Seal of the Confessional
by InfinityStar
Summary: A series of murders draw Goren and Eames into an investigation involving a priest who knows more than he can tell, culminating in a new nightmare for one of the detectives. BA
1. Early Morning Call

Disclaimer: They aren't mine; they belong to Dick Wolf. Thanks, Mr. Wolf. The Ten Commandments belong to God.

* * *

The phone rang…and rang…and rang. Alex Eames swore under her breath. Why tonight? That had been a _damn_ good dream! She rolled over and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Eames?"

"Who the hell did you expect to answer my phone?"

"Sorry to wake you."

"This had better be good, Goren."

"Deakins seems to think it is. Body in the Village."

"That sounds like the name of a bad horror movie. All right. I'll pick you up."

She dropped the receiver into its cradle and rolled out of bed. Thirty minutes later she was in front of her partner's building. He came right out, as he usually did. That was one thing she did appreciate about him. He never kept her waiting when she picked him up. He slid into the car. "It's still dark, Goren."

"I noticed."

"I'll have you know you interrupted a good dream."

"Sorry." He looked over at her. "Want to talk about it?"

"No thanks." She wasn't going there with him. The fact that he had been part of that dream would make discussing it with him more disquieting than comforting. The last thing she wanted was her partner in her head…at least not any more than he already was. "We're stopping for coffee on the way." She looked at him. She hadn't missed the fatigue in his eyes when he got into the car. "Have you even been to sleep?"

"I tried."

"You tried? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. You should know me by now."

"Don't give me that crap."

He shrugged. "I haven't…been sleeping very well."

She glanced at him, but his face was in shadows, and she suspected it would tell her nothing if she could see it. If she knew him, he was going to change the subject, like he usually tried to when the conversation got too personal. "The body was found on the steps of St. Mary's."

She let him get away with it for the moment. "A church? Geez. What else?"

"I don't know anything else."

She was quiet for a minute before she tried to steer the conversation back to his sleeping patterns. "Well, then, tell me what's going on. Have you been having bad dreams?"

His dreams…he wasn't about to go into that with her. He cared little what others thought about him. With Eames, though, it was different, because he did care what she thought. Every little piece of the puzzle he let her see frightened him. He was always afraid that the next piece would be the one to frighten her off. But she hadn't gone yet. And she had seen some pretty frightening pieces. In the beginning, he had tried to push her away, keep her at a distance. Now all he wanted to do was draw her closer. But he didn't know what _she_ wanted, and that was what mattered to him. So he kept his distance. "Forget it, Eames. It's not important."

She glanced at him, sensing he was disturbed. "Goren…"

"Forget it," he said softly.

So she let the matter drop…for now.

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They pulled up to the church and were approached by the police sergeant who was in charge of the scene. "You guys Major Case?"

Eames nodded. "I'm Detective Eames. My partner is Detective Goren."

"Body's over here."

They followed him to the steps of the church, pulling on their latex gloves as they went. Goren squatted beside the body, beginning his examination. Eames took in the surrounding area. At four o'clock in the morning there wasn't much in the way of traffic, vehicle or pedestrian. This church was off the beaten path. "Eames."

She returned to the body, where Goren had pulled the victim's shirt back from his abdomen. The number five was written on his skin. "Please tell me that's red paint."

"It's not."

"Nice."

"He appears to have been tortured. See these marks on his wrists and those on his ankles? They're electrical burns."

"This just gets better."

He looked up at her, arms resting on his knees. His face was troubled. "There may be more to this than there seems."

"And what makes you say that?"

"The number five." He pointed to the victim's torso. "Where are the first four?"


	2. The First Four

Deakins was in the squad room when Goren and Eames got there. He met them at their desks. "Well?"

Eames sat down. "Male Caucasian, thirties, no ID yet. He was dropped on the steps of the church after being killed someplace else."

Goren leaned back in his chair. "He was tortured to death. He has electrical burns on his ankles and wrists, and his hands and feet have been burned. We won't get any prints off him. He also had the number five painted on his abdomen in blood."

"The number five? What's the significance of that?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, let me know when you find it."

Not 'if,' Eames noticed. 'When.' Deakins put a great deal of faith in him…in them. And she knew the person, the investigator, she had become over the last five years was due in no small part to her partner. Before they became partners, it had always been 'him.' Through the long succession of partners he had gone through back then, it was still 'him.' That was part of the reason no one ever stayed with him. When she became his partner, it started out the same, but then something changed. She wasn't sure exactly what, but at some point, 'he' had become 'them.' Robert Goren, the brilliant genius who always flew solo, became Goren and Eames, the brilliant duo who had become inseparable.

She reached across the desk to take the file folder he handed to her, then pulled a form out of the drawer, picked up a pen and got to work. Goren got busy on the computer, searching for the first four murders he was convinced were out there.

An hour and a half later, Goren grabbed the phone and dialed. Eames looked up. "Find something?"

"Maybe."

He spent the better part of the next forty-five minutes on the phone before he replaced the receiver in its cradle.

She looked at him, expectantly. "Come on," he said as he grabbed his portfolio, got to his feet and headed for Deakins' office. She could sense his excitement. The captain motioned for them to come in. "What did you find out?"

"Our number five really is number five. Over the past two months, four other bodies have been dumped, one in each of the other four boroughs. All Caucasian males, in their thirties, and none have been identified. Each had a number painted on his abdomen in blood and every one of them was found on the steps of a church, except for number three, who was found tied to a pew inside the church." He opened his portfolio. "Number one was found in the Bronx, beaten to death. He had a roll of ten bills stuffed in his mouth, all tens. He was knocked unconscious, then beaten to death with a money bag full of coins, which was left by the body."

"Let me guess," Eames ventured. "They were all dimes."

He nodded and continued, "Number two was found in Queens. Blunt force trauma to the head, no murder weapon recovered, and his tongue was removed post-mortem. Number three was left in Brooklyn, strangled and tied in a pew inside the church. Number four was on Staten Island, also killed by a blunt force trauma to the head, no weapon recovered, but this victim's chest was mutilated post-mortem. Number five is ours."

"Somebody have a grudge against the Church?" Deakins asked.

"Maybe. The four precincts who handled the first four murders are sending me what they have."

"When was the first murder?"

"Almost two months ago. Each murder occurred ten days after the one before."

Eames shook her head. "This guy seems to like the number ten."

Deakins looked from one detective to the other. "Any ideas?"

"Not yet," Goren answered.

"Well, keep me informed. Since no one else has connected these murders yet, let's keep it under wraps for as long as we can."

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By late afternoon, Goren had a box filled with everything the other four precincts had, which wasn't much. The files weren't very thick; there was little to go on. He examined the photos of the four scenes and the medical examiners' photos of each victim, then he passed them to his partner. Each murder was distinctly different from the other four, but each body bore the mark of the killer---the red number painted on each abdomen in the victim's blood.

He sent the roll of bills and bag of coins to the lab, to see if they could come up with anything. Eames looked up at him. "What do you think they're going to find after two months that the lab in the Bronx didn't?"

He shrugged. "We'll know if they find it."

"I love it when you talk in riddles. What did you tell them to do with all those dimes?"

"Dust them."

"All of them?" He nodded. "Oh, they're gonna love you. Didn't they already do that?"

He looked through the file. "If they did, it's not here."

"How many dimes are there?"

Again, he consulted the file. "One thousand. A hundred dollars' worth. The same amount that had been stuffed in his mouth in bills."

"There's that ten again. What do you think is up with that?"

He shook his head. "I don't know yet."

She watched him return to the files. He was determined to figure it out…and if anyone could, she had no doubt he was the one who would do it.


	3. His Promise

**A/N**: Sorry...I had to replace this chapter...I forgot part of it. My bad :-)

* * *

Goren leaned back on the couch and stretched. On the easy chair across from him, Eames popped the last bite of her egg roll into her mouth. He took a drink from his beer, dropped the folder he'd had in his lap on the coffee table and picked up another folder from the couch beside him. "How many times are you going to read those files?"

"Until I find what I've been missing."

She sighed. This was going to be one of those cases. He was having trouble getting in, but once he did get in, she was going to have a hell of a time getting him out. "Bobby…" She waited for him to look at her. "Take a break. Step back from it. You're trying too hard."

"Trying too hard? What's trying _too_ hard, Eames? There's a serial killer out there and he's not going to stop leaving us bodies until we figure him out and catch him. The sooner we do that, the fewer bodies we'll end up with. We're five days away from the next body and no closer to the killer than we were when we started."

She knew he was frustrated and that frustration was fueling his anger. "Don't get mad at me. I know what we have to do. I just don't want you to lose your mind doing it."

"I'm not going to lose my mind."

"Damn right, you're not. Now put that file down and take a break."

"We can't afford…"

"Yes, we can. Don't argue with me. You never win."

He opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind. She was right. He rarely won an argument with her and he hated to fight with her. Besides, he wasn't mad at her. He was mad at himself. Halfway to the next body and they were no closer to the killer than they had been when they started. Five murders, each in a different borough, each a little different than the one before…but he was positive they were dealing with one killer. Even Eames was beginning to question that, but he wasn't. There was just one killer, and he had a score to settle…with someone. He threw the file on the table in angry frustration.

She took that as her cue to pack it in for the night. This was going to get them nowhere. They were both tired and short-tempered, and she didn't want to fight with him; neither of them handled that well. "It's late. I'm going home."

She got up and walked to the door, taking her jacket from the coat rack. Then she realized how that had sounded and she knew how he would interpret it. Turning to look at him, she saw the conflicted emotion in his face she expected to see. "Relax, Goren. I'm not mad. I'm just tired. I'll see you in the morning. Will you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Get some sleep. You'll think clearer if you're not a zombie."

That got a smile. "All right. I promise I'll try."

"You'd better do more than try, or I'll bring a baseball bat over and use it as a sleeping pill."

He chuckled softly at the teasing threat. "I'll do my best."

She smiled. "Good night, Bobby."

She left the apartment and walked down the hall to the elevator. She hoped he would get some rest. She knew he didn't need much, but he wouldn't function on no sleep at all. She looked over her shoulder toward his door as she got on the elevator. Her partner had a secure place deep in her heart. He was brilliant but vulnerable, and she felt a need to protect him, to take care of him… She wondered about that as the elevator descended to the ground floor and she walked to the car. Why did she feel that way? At first glance, it would seem to be the other way around. He always watched out for her, protected her when things began to get out of hand. He was always there. But under that powerful exterior, she knew demons lurked. What she didn't realize was that she was the one, the only one, who kept those demons at bay and prevented them from consuming him once and for all. She slid the key into the lock and looked up at the building toward his window. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was watching, making sure she got safely to the car. Placing her fingers on her lips, she blew him a kiss then slid behind the wheel, started the car and drove off.

Three floors up, he watched her drive off as he leaned against the wall by the window. He smiled at her gesture of affection and gently blew a kiss back to her, though he knew she couldn't see him. But she would know. He had no doubt of that.

He went back into the living room and cleaned up the remnants of their dinner. Then he gathered the files together and stacked them on the coffee table. He stared at the neat pile of five files, stacked on his portfolio. This perp had not yet put enough of himself into his crimes for him to get ahold of. He was trying, but there was nothing much to grab. He was frustrated beyond words. He felt like he was trying to gather a handful of dry sand into a ball. The grains just kept sifting formlessly through his fingers. He reached toward the files, but stopped just short of them. His partner's voice sounded in his head. _Get some sleep._ He'd promised. Turning off the light with a sigh, he headed toward the bedroom to keep his promise to her and try to get some sleep.

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Eames walked into the squad the next morning, not surprised to see her partner already at work. She set a cup of coffee in front of him and dropped a brown paper bag onto his desk. He looked up at her and smiled. "Thanks. Sorry about last night."

"Forget it. I know you're frustrated. Do you think I'm not?" She sat down with her own coffee and pulled a danish from the white wax bag she had. "I want to solve this as badly as you do. But if the path isn't there, Bobby, you aren't going to lay it down yourself."

"I know. But there's got to be something here, Eames."

She leaned toward him. "No, there doesn't. Look, we have no witnesses at all. We don't even know who these guys are. We can't exactly put their morgue photos all over the TV and announce 'If this is your husband or your son, give us a call.'"

"We can't go public with it anyway. It would tip our hand that we've connected the homicides. If he thinks we don't know what he's done, he'll get careless."

"He hasn't yet."

"But he will. And that's when we'll get him."

"Sooner rather than later, I hope."

He took a bite of the sandwich she'd brought him and turned back to the files. She watched him for a minute before he looked up at her. "What?"

"You slept."

He gave her one of his half-smiles. "I promised, didn't I?"

"You look better. Thanks."

He handed her a file. "Maybe you can find something I can't."

She laughed. "Fat chance, Bobby. Since when do you miss anything?"

But she opened the file and humored him. And they spent another fruitless day reviewing the files until they knew them by heart. There was a good reason he wasn't finding what he was looking for. It wasn't there.


	4. Enter Father Sean

A/N: For anyone unfamiliar with the religious terminology I've used, I've put a glossary at the end of the chapter.

* * *

He lay in his bed, one hand beneath his head, the other on his chest, staring at the ceiling. How many nights did he spend in just this manner, watching the shadows play across the ceiling as the wind whispered through the trees outside the window? 

Streetlight….shadow…streetlight…shadow…

Sleep was elusive yet again, so his mind replayed the evidence of the five murders. Some cases never bothered him…others haunted him. Right now he was haunted by this case. Today was the tenth day. If the killer was going to adhere to his pattern, a new body was going to be found tonight. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was the disturbing work of more than one killer and everything that connected one to the other was random. _Sigh_. Who the hell was he kidding? He knew he wasn't wrong.

The phone rang, shattering the silence of the night. Rolling toward the nightstand, he lifted the receiver from its cradle. "Goren."

"You were expecting this call, weren't you?" Deakins asked.

"Unfortunately."

"You were right, Bobby. Number six has turned up."

"Another church?"

"St. Cecelia's, in Chelsea."

"We'll be there as soon as we can."

He laid a finger on the cradle to terminate the call, then dialed a number he knew by heart. On the fourth ring, she picked it up. "Day ten," she said softly.

He smiled to himself. He hated to wake her, but he loved the sound of her voice after she had just woken. "Day ten," he confirmed.

"Ok. I'll be right there."

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Another man in his thirties, strangled and left on the steps of the church. Goren gently lifted the man's shirt off his abdomen. The number six, painted in blood…and more blood, all over the man's pants…oh, no. Eames approached as he was unbuckling the man's pants. "Just when I thought you couldn't surprise me any more."

Unzipping the blood-sodden zipper, he took a look. Then he closed the pants back up. "Well?" Eames asked.

"Gone."

Gone? She took a deep breath. "_What_ is gone?"

"All of it."

"No…the entire package?" He nodded. "This just keeps getting worse."

Together, they walked to the front of the church, where the priest who had found the body was sitting alone in a pew. This was the first case where the body had not been found by a patrolling officer. He was a young man, not yet forty, although his hairline had already begun to recede. He had a kind face, a gentle manner. "Father Sean?" Eames said softly. "I'm Detective Eames and this is Detective Goren. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

He looked up at the detectives and rose to his feet, still shaky from his gruesome discovery. Goren gently grabbed his arm. "Stay seated, Father. It's ok."

He sat in the pew behind the priest while Eames sat in the one in front of him. Goren asked, "It's kind of early to start getting ready for Mass, isn't it, Father?"

The priest turned quiet gray eyes toward the big detective. "It's never too early, or too late, to pray, Detective. I came into the church to pray."

"To pray…with someone? Were you…meeting someone here?"

"At three o'clock in the morning?"

"A priest is always on call to his flock."

Father Sean studied him intently. He ran his hand over his sandy hair and his face relaxed into a smile, though his eyes remained troubled. "No, Detective Goren, I was not meeting anyone. I was having a restless night and I often find peace here in the church. Surely you can understand a man seeking peace."

Goren nodded. Yes, he understood that…better than most did. "Why did you choose to come in…the front doors?" He indicated the main doors of the church. "There is a side entrance, over there. That would be…closer to the rectory."

Humor flashed in the priest's eyes as he looked at Eames. "Is he always so…" He looked for the right word, not wanting to offend either officer.

Eames almost smiled at the young priest. "Nosy? Yes. He's very good at it." She looked at her partner, noting the amusement in his eyes. "But it's our job to be nosy, Father. It's just that my partner is better at it than most."

Father Sean looked at Goren and said, "I don't know why I chose that entrance, Detective. I didn't think about it. I came out the front door of the rectory and walked down here to the front door of the church. I didn't use the side entrances, and I don't have a reason why." He got to his feet, not quite as shaky any more. "I've told you all I can. I couldn't sleep, so I came over from the rectory to pray in the church, and I found that poor man on the steps. Now if you please, I still have prayers to say. A man has died, and I need to pray for his soul, and for whoever killed him. Let me know if I can be of further service."

They watched him walk away from them. He stepped up onto the altar, genuflected and disappeared into the sacristy. Eames looked back toward her partner and she did not like the look on his face. "What?" she asked.

"He knows more than he's telling us."

"He's lying?"

He looked at her. "Not quite. But there's something he's hiding…or someone, maybe. 'I've told you all I can.'" He shook his head. "Something is not right."

"Maybe you're reading too much into it."

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

"You never do, Bobby."

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Carver looked at Goren, exasperated. "Detective, I cannot issue a search warrant for a church and rectory on a matter of semantics or a gut feeling, even one of yours. I need something more concrete. Father Sean has every right to pray in his church at three in the morning if he wants to. That does not make him a criminal."

"But…"

"No 'buts,' Detective. Get me something more substantial, and then we'll talk."

The ADA left the office. Goren turned to the captain. "I'm not wrong about this."

"Maybe not, but leave the good father alone, until we know something more."

Agitated, Goren left the office and headed for his desk. Deakins looked at Eames. "What do you think?"

"I don't think the father committed the crime, and neither does Bobby."

"But…"

"But he thinks Father Sean knows more than he's telling."

"And you?"

"I'll go with his instinct unless we find out otherwise."

"All right, follow up on it, but keep an eye on your partner. If Father Sean is involved in some way, I don't want him getting away because Goren leaned on him too hard. Priests have a way of disappearing within the Church when the pressure gets put on."

"I'll do what I can."

She joined her partner at their desks. He looked up at her. 'Crap,' she thought. She knew that look. "It's Sunday, Eames. Let's go to Mass."

* * *

genuflect: to bend the knee in worship; sacristy: a room where priests prepare for Mass, vestments and sacred vessels are kept there; rectory: priest's residence 


	5. Sunday Mass

They sat in the back of the church through the Mass. Eames kept glancing at her partner. He was focused on Father Sean. His familiarity with the Mass enabled him to participate while his mind read and interpreted every movement the priest made, every word he spoke.

When the Mass ended, Goren sat back down in the pew, watching the parishioners file from the church. Eames sat beside him and looked at him, "So, what was the point of coming to Mass?"

"I wanted to watch Father Sean."

"And did you find out anything?"

He nodded. "I did, but it was only what I expected to find. He's troubled. Something is weighing heavily on the good father."

"Deakins said to lay off him, remember? You have to have something more concrete, Bobby."

"We're not going to bother him."

"Our just being here is going to bother him."

He shrugged noncommittally. "I just want to say hi," he said quietly.

When the last churchgoers had passed them, he got up from the pew and headed out of the building. Eames followed him. On the steps of the church, Father Sean was greeting the last of his parishioners. He looked up at Goren and the color drained from his face. The big detective pretended not to notice. He shook the priest's hand enthusiastically. "Great homily, Father!"

"Th-thank you, Detective. What brings you back? Do you have more questions for me?"

"Not today, Father Sean," Goren said. "We just came for the Mass. Have a good day."

Father Sean watched the two detectives descend the steps to the street. He didn't like this, not at all. He knew the big detective was suspicious and he wasn't going to go away anytime soon…not unless he had answers. He walked slowly back into the church.

In the passenger seat of the car, Goren studied the church. Eames looked at him as she put the keys in the ignition. She looked at the church, then back at her partner. "What?"

He shook his head. "Let's get back to the squad."

"What's going through that head of yours, Goren?"

He half-smiled. "About a hundred different things, Eames, but not a damn one of them is doing me any good."

She started the car, shaking her head. She didn't doubt a word he said. His mind never rested. Pulling away from the curb, she said, "What are you thinking about Father Sean?"

His closed fist rested against his mouth as he looked out the passenger window. "I think…Father Sean is going to be a key player in our investigation. He's troubled, and it's more than just the body he found on his doorstep." He tapped his fist against his knee. "Did you see his reaction when he saw us?"

She nodded. "He turned white as a sheet."

"It wasn't because he thought we were going to ask him more questions about something he knows nothing about. He feels…guilty about something."

"Murder, maybe?"

He shook his head. "No. Well, not about a murder he committed, anyway. This is something…more."

"What makes you say that?"

"He doesn't act guilty, not for something he did. This is different. It's a different form of guilt."

"So what's our next step?"

"We see what we can find out about Father Sean."

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Three hours on the computer searching database after database and all he had to show for it was a headache. He leaned back and rubbed his forehead. "Find anything?"

"No."

"Did you really think you would?"

"No."

She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. "Cheer up, Bobby. I find it reassuring to find a squeaky clean priest after all the crap that's been going on in the media."

He got up and shook his head. "I wasn't looking for a rap sheet or anything."

"What _were_ you looking for?"

He was restless, fidgety, and he didn't know why. "I don't know, Eames. Ok? I don't know what I'm looking for. I'll know it when I find it, but until then, I don't know."

She got up and walked around the desks. "It's getting late. Let's call it a day."

It was Sunday night and the squad was mostly empty. There wasn't much else he was going to find tonight…or tomorrow…or any time soon she was afraid. He slammed his portfolio closed. Her hand came to rest on top of his and he looked at it for a minute. So small…delicate…but strong…just like she was. He looked at her. "Calm down," she said softly, so that only he could hear her. "I know this is hard for you, not finding any evidence you can sink your teeth into. But getting mad isn't going to make something appear out of nowhere. You need to take comfort from the fact that you've been over all this enough times to know you haven't missed anything. Get over it, Goren. Now let's get out of here."

She was right. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. Just come on."

He picked up his portfolio and the stack of files and followed her to the elevators.


	6. The Unbreakable Vow

It had been another ten days and all they'd been doing was spinning their wheels. The closer they got to the next body, the more agitated Goren got, and Eames found herself having trouble settling him down. So they were both getting frustrated. She knew it was nothing he had control over, and she was just as worried about the next murder…but there was nothing they could do. One thing that eased her mind, though, was the fact that she could still get him to smile for her…a real smile, one that reached his eyes. As long as he would smile or laugh, he was ok, and she didn't worry as much. When he stopped smiling, then she would really worry.

The seventh murder victim had been found and he was waiting near the curb when she pulled up to his building. He was pacing. As he got in the car, she said, "Don't get me wrong, but we _really_ have to stop meeting like this."

He looked at her with that half-amused smile she found so endearing and shut the door. "It's not my idea," he said quietly. Well, the circumstances weren't, to be sure. Being with her in the middle of the night…that was something he could get used to…something he'd give almost anything to…damn. Reluctantly, he dragged his tired mind from the bedroom. He sat in silence for a minute. "This doesn't make sense, Eames. He dumped this body at St. Cecelia's. He's never used the same dump site twice."

"Well, the last murder broke form by being in Manhattan. Two in the same borough. Now it's three."

"These murders have been fairly well organized. They don't seem to be a product of rage or impulse. They've all been killed away from the dump site. He's been very careful not to give us any clues that could help us identify the bodies. We didn't even implicate him in the first four murders until we found the fifth. He ties them together by numbering them…but now…staying in Manhattan…using St. Cecelia's twice…Is he panicking?"

"Maybe he's comfortable here. Maybe he knows St Cecelia's. "

He nodded. "Maybe."

He fell silent and looked out the window. It was never good when he turned in on himself like that. She also knew that trying to draw him out of it was pointless. So she turned her attention to the road and left him to his thoughts.

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When they arrived at St. Cecelia's, Father Sean was sitting on the steps, well away from the crime scene, his head in his hands. Goren walked up to him and lowered his large frame onto the steps beside the priest. "I thought I could help him," Father Sean said miserably.

"Help who?"

He looked up at Goren. "I can't say. He confessed, Detective. I can't tell you anything more."

"Father, seven men are dead."

"I know. I know. And more will come…unless you can stop him."

"So help us out here."

"I wish I could."

"You can."

"No, Detective. I can't. But I would like to see the men he killed. I may know them."

"How?"

"They may be parishioners. I won't know until I see them."

Eames could see the fury, even though it was well contained, grow like a storm in her partner's eyes. "Go check out the body," she said quietly. "I'll talk to Father Sean."

Goren's jaw knotted tensely. But he got to his feet and went to examine the body. Eames sat beside the distraught priest. "Why do you think you know the victims, Father?"

"Call it a hunch."

"And their killer?"

"Like I told your partner, he is protected by the seal of the confessional. I cannot say more."

"You told my partner more will come, unless we can stop him."

"Yes."

She sighed. This was going to drive Goren up a wall. "Will you come with us, Father? Answer some questions down at our squad?"

"Yes, of course. But understand…I cannot betray…"

"Yeah, I know…the seal of the confessional."

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Goren walked around the body, studying it with a practiced eye. Squatting beside it, he lifted one hand…and it came free from the arm. He tilted his head and looked down at the arm, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Why do you have that man's hand in yours?"

He looked up at his partner. "It just came off."

He set the hand down beside the body and walked around to the other side. He lifted the other arm by the sleeve. The hand fell at his feet. "This is interesting."

"This is creepy, Bobby."

"In some cultures, cutting off the hands is the punishment for a thief."

"So you think he stole something?"

He shook his head in frustration. "I don't know yet, Eames."

"Well, Father Sean is waiting in the car. He says if he does know the victims, _those_ names he'll give us."

------------------------------------------

Eames got the priest settled in an interrogation room with photos of all the victims, then joined her partner and the captain in the observation room. "He knows who's doing this?" Deakins asked.

Eames nodded. "Yes, he does. But he won't tell us."

"He _can't_ tell us." Goren was pacing. "The seal of the confessional is inviolate. His hands are tied."

"People are being killed here," Eames pointed out, annoyed at his absolute declaration.

Goren was shaking his head. "There are no exceptions. None. If he told us, or gave us any clues that would lead to the penitent, he would be excommunicated, his soul condemned. It's one of the Church's most sacred trusts."

Deakins let out his breath. "Talk to him, Bobby. See what he'll tell you."

Father Sean looked up when the two detectives entered the room. His eyes were haunted. He had just finished writing the names of the victims on the paper Eames had given him. "Unfortunately, I was right. I knew all of them. If you need addresses, my secretary can get those for you."

They sat across from the priest, and, as Eames took the paper from him, Goren began, gently. "I understand the situation you find yourself in, Father. Do you understand ours?"

"Of course I do, Detective."

"Why didn't you tell us who the victims were on Sunday, when we were investigating the sixth death?"

"I didn't know at the time."

"You knew the sixth victim."

"And I would have told you if I had looked at him closely enough to recognize him. I have never discovered a dead body before."

Eames frowned. "Seems like you're getting lots of practice now."

Father Sean looked at his hands and remained silent. Goren's voice was still gentle. "Had he confessed at that time, Father?"

"Yes. And like I told you, I thought I could help him."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No, I don't. Not now."

"But you did then?"

"Yes."

Goren ran a hand over his hair in frustration. "So what do we do here, Father?"

Father Sean leaned toward the big detective. "You find him, Detective, and you bring him to justice. I can't help you." He sat back. "Look at the murders, Detective Goren. Think. You'll get it." He looked at Eames. "There's nothing more I can do to help you. May I go now?"

She nodded. "You're not under arrest, Father. One of the officers will take you home."

"You know where to find me if you need me."

He left the room. Eames turned to her partner. "Can't we get him for obstruction or something?"

Goren shook his head. "We could, but it wouldn't do any good."

There was that look again…he was thinking. Father Sean had told him as much as he could…the murders…think…


	7. The Connection

He had dozed off on the couch. Eames sat across from him, glad to finally see him sleeping. This case was taking its toll on her big partner. He was sleeping less than usual, which wasn't much to begin with. He was irritable and frustrated. She and Deakins were the only ones who would even talk to him…and he hadn't even noticed. But she did. She saw people look at him the way they used to, when she'd first joined Major Case. What she had noticed most, though, was how much inside himself he was. She was still able to draw him out, but it took effort, an effort she never used to have to make. She just could not see what they could be missing, what kind of connection there was to be made. Goren still insisted it was there, but she was questioning him now, and she hated that. More than anything else, her partner needed her to believe in him. So she pushed aside her doubts, never let him see them. And she continued to help him search for a connection she was less and less certain was even there.

She wasn't quite sure what to do right now. Maybe she should go home and let him sleep. But she wasn't sure she wanted to leave him. She finally decided to continue looking through the files. She had no idea what she was looking for…she'd been through these files a hundred times, which was a fraction as many times as he had been through them. If he couldn't find whatever it was they were supposed to be looking for, she doubted it would jump off a page at her. She leaned back, stretched and rested her head against the back of the chair. She closed her eyes…just for a minute…

She started awake. It took a minute for her to realize where she was. What was this? A blanket? She looked over at the couch. Her partner was lying on his back, head propped on the arm, reading through a file. That was just like him. He heard her move and he lowered the file, looking over the top of it at her. "Are you comfortable? You can go on into the bedroom if you want to. I'm not going anywhere."

"You really should sleep, you know."

"I had a couple of hours. I'm good."

"What time is it?"

"Around two."

She was quiet for a minute, then nodded. "Ok, if you're sure."

He waved a hand at her. He had already gone back to his file. She got up from the chair, folding the blanket and leaving it there. She went into the bedroom. She really didn't feel like going home; she was exhausted. She slipped off her shoes and slid beneath the covers. His bed was very comfortable…she didn't get why he didn't spend more time in it. Snuggling down, she quickly went to sleep.

He flipped through a couple of pages, but he was having trouble getting back into it. Sitting up, he dropped the file onto the table and went into the kitchen. He'd made a fresh pot of coffee and he poured himself a cup, added some milk and went back into the living room. He looked down the hall toward the bedroom for a moment before dropping miserably onto the couch. What the hell was going on? This case was eating at him in a way few others did, but worse than that, it was affecting his partner, too. He knew he was working himself too hard, but he'd done that before. What he never intended was to bring her down with him. He could see the fatigue and worry in her eyes, and it pained him that he was the cause of it. He was going to have to make this up to her somehow.

He looked at the file folders spread on the table, forcing his attention back to the case. What did these murders mean? Severed hands…tied to a pew…missing genitalia…wait a minute…

He got up, eyes searching the bookshelves. He grabbed the book he was searching for and sat back down. Flipping through the pages, he looked for the passage he needed…Exodus…here it was…

The First Commandment…_Honor the Lord your God and have no other gods before Him_…money…the bills in the mouth and the coins in the bag…the denominations of ten…

The Second Commandment…_Do not take the name of the Lord in vain_…the tongue was removed.

The Third Commandment…_Keep holy the Lord's Day_… he was tied into a pew.

The Fourth Commandment…_Honor your parents_…the sliced heart…the pain of a disobedient child, reflected back onto the child…

The Fifth Commandment…_You shall not kill_…the torture…

The Sixth Commandment…_You shall not commit adultery_…well, that was obvious now…

The Seventh Commandment…_You shall not steal_…the severed hands…

He searched through the files for the list of parishioners Father Sean had given them, and the information they had uncovered about the victims.

Victim number one: Richard Stockton, a Wall Street broker with a large bank account…a money worshipper…at least in the mind of the man who killed him.

Victim number two: Nicholas Freeman, a dockworker…well, chances were pretty good that he used a great deal of…colorful language…

Victim number three: Herbert Mason, a workaholic, who threw himself into his job, seven days a week, a family man who no longer accompanied his family to church…a supposition on his part, but he was willing to bet it was accurate. He scribbled a note to check it out tomorrow.

Victim number four: Marcus Baker, a nightclub bouncer, he wasn't sure what the killer knew about this guy to determine he didn't respect his parents, but they would find out tomorrow.

Victim number five: Derrick Langston, on parole for murder one.

Victim number six: Fred Riker, another one for further investigation, but he'd bet a month's pay this man was cheating on his wife

Victim number seven: William Ullster, a thief of some kind…another question for tomorrow.

He finished writing and leaned back on the sofa. He wanted badly to get Eames up and share this with her, but respect for his partner held him back. Let her sleep…this would all still be there in the morning.

He found it…he found the connection he had been seeking…it _had_ been there all along, just like he knew it would be. The excitement of discovery slowly faded without someone to share it with, but it would return quickly when she got up in the morning. It was replaced with bone-numbing fatigue as his mind and body let go of the obsession that had possessed him over the past few weeks. Now all that was left to them was to tie the connection to the killer. The key to finding who did it, he knew, was at St. Cecelia's. Even if Father Sean couldn't help them, they had to return to the parish for more information. Somehow, St. Cecelia's was the focal point for this killer, and the church was the key to finding him.


	8. St Cecelia's

With reluctance, she pulled herself from the warmth of his bed. She looked at the clock. Eight am. She didn't usually sleep this late, but she felt better rested than she had in a long time. Was it because of the bed, or because, being nearby, she didn't worry about him as much? She wasn't surprised that she worried about him, but she was surprised by how much she worried, especially now. He was teetering on the edge, and she was his only anchor.

She walked down the hall, pleased to see he had gone back to sleep on the couch. Mentally, she chastised herself for the disappointment that cropped up when she found herself wishing he had joined her in the bed. 'Forget it. He's your friggin' _partner_.'

She made fresh coffee and opened the refrigerator. Wow…calling this slim pickings would be generous. An open quart of milk, two eggs, half a package of ground beef and two beers… They weren't going to be having breakfast here. She got down two coffee cups and filled them when the coffee was ready. Adding milk to his and sugar to hers, she went back to the living room. She set both cups on the coffee table amid the files and papers and gently sat beside him, her hip and side coming to rest against his stomach. As much trouble as he'd had sleeping lately, she hated to wake him…but they had work to do. "Bobby?"

He stirred, opening his eyes wearily. "Eames? Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just time to get up."

Get up? He had fallen asleep? He sat up as she moved over and he rubbed his eyes. She smiled. Some men never lost that air of little boyishness when they woke up. She slid the coffee cup into his hands. He took a drink, looking at the scattered papers that littered the table in front of him… "Eames, I got it! Last night, after you went to bed…" He was shuffling through the papers, pulling his notepad from under several of them. "Look…it's the Ten Commandments. Every victim he chose had violated one of the Ten Commandments, at least in his mind. We have some more checking to do, but look…"

She took the paper from him. This certainly did tie everything together, made sense of it all. She looked at him. "But don't these acts of murder themselves violate the commandment not to kill?"

"Not in his mind. He sees himself as an avenging angel, a messenger from God."

She smiled to herself. He was in. It had taken longer than usual, but he had gotten there, and he was excited, animated. She felt a huge weight lift from her heart. "You think this is what Father Sean was hoping you would find?"

"It has to be." He jumped up. "We need to go over to St. Cecelia's."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mrs. Eloise Dunbarton looked up from her desk when the detectives came in. She was a pleasant older woman, with graying hair and a kind face. "Good morning, detectives. How may I help you today?"

Goren eased into a chair in front of her and leaned forward toward the desk. "How well do you know the parishioners who were killed?"

"Some well, some not. Why?"

"We need some more personal information about four of them."

"I'll tell you what I know."

"Marcus Baker. Did he have any kind of trouble with his parents?"

"He had a falling out with them a couple of years ago. I don't know the details of it, but Father Sean was trying to convince him to at least let them see his children. You'll have to talk to his wife if you want more details. I gave you her address yesterday."

He nodded. "What about Herbert Mason? What do you know about him?"

"His wife is a lovely person, and his sons are adorable. We haven't seen Herb though in a couple of years."

"So he wasn't a regular at Mass?"

"Not in at least four or five years."

He made a notation next to Mason's name in his portfolio. "And Fred Riker?"

She hesitated. "Anything I say about Fred is based on rumor, not on first-hand knowledge."

"That's all right. What have you heard?" When she hesitated again, he asked, "It wouldn't have to do with infidelity, would it?"

"Fred has a reputation as a player, Detective Goren. His wife has talked with Father Sean, but I don't know the details. Like I said, I have no personal knowledge of that."

"It's fine. The last person is William Ullster."

She looked sad. "William was a troubled soul. He spent a lot of time talking to Father Sean, helping out around here. He was in a lot of trouble, but he managed never to get involved with the police, mainly because of Father Sean. His work around here was partial reparation for what he'd done."

"What did he do?"

"He was involved with a burglary ring that hit several of the churches around Manhattan a couple of years ago. He came to Father Sean two years ago, about seven months before the ring got busted. Father got him out of it, helped him make reparation to some of the parishes for his part in the crimes. Will was still working off his penance, still making amends."

Goren finished writing and looked up at the parish secretary. "Does Father Sean make a…habit of keeping penitents from the law?"

She drew a deep breath. Eames wondered if she was gathering patience. She certainly knew how that felt when dealing with her partner. "No, Detective, he doesn't. But he has helped a few lost souls find their way, without involving the law. Does it matter how a person pays for their sins, as long as they pay? If Will had been prosecuted he may have done time for what he did, or maybe not. Father Sean's penance for him was much greater than any he would have been given by the criminal justice system. And he was replacing what was stolen. Criminal courts make few allowances for that."

Goren was quiet. He was studying the paper in front of him. "Has there been anyone hanging around here over the past few months?"

"No. Not that I noticed."

He handed the paper to the secretary. "Mrs. Dunbarton, how many of the men on that paper has Father Sean counseled in the last year or so?"

She looked at the list, frowning. "All of them. Except Herb and Fred, but their wives were in."

He took the paper back and placed it in his portfolio. "Thank you, Mrs. Dunbarton. We have what we needed to know. Is Father Sean around?"

"Not at the moment. He had to make a sick call."

"Please have him call me when he comes in."

"I will."

Out on the steps of the rectory, Eames looked at her partner. "What are you thinking, Bobby?"

"I don't know what to think, Eames."

"He counseled every one of our victims. That could very well implicate him…"

"Don't jump the gun. I don't think he's involved in the murders, at least not that he knows."

She looked at him as they crossed the street. "Please, Bobby…I don't want to get into a sparring match with Deakins. Priests can be killers, too, you know. They're only human."

"What? No. He…doesn't fit the profile. It's not him."

"Is that your investigative mind talking or a soft spot in your heart?"

He stopped suddenly and looked at her. She grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the street. "He doesn't fit the profile, Eames. No, he knows who the killer is, but it's not him. Trust me on this."

"Ok, I'll trust you. What do you think about his method of justice?"

"Mrs. Dunbarton is right about Ullster's penance. Father Sean demanded a greater price from Ullster than the courts would have made him pay."

"Mopping a church hall is greater penance than fifteen to twenty at Riker's?"

"Think about it, Eames. Prison can turn basically good men into criminals. How many times have we seen that? It breeds anger, resentment and vengeance. Ullster was a non-violent offender. Not only was he working around here, he had to repay the other churches for what was stolen. It's brilliant, and there are no losers."

"And what about our perp?"

"Father Seantried. I think he realizes this one is beyond his reach. Remember? He told us to find him and bring him to justice."

"Even if justice means the death penalty?"

Goren shrugged. "I guess so. We need to get him off the streets, and Father Sean realizes that. He's done all he can; now it's up to us."

They got into the car and she started the engine. She looked at her partner before putting the car in gear. "So where did your inspiration come from? How did you connect the dots and find the Ten Commandments?"

He smiled. "I didn't create the picture, Eames."

She was thrilled to see his easy smile; she'd missed it. "But the Ten Commandments? You weren't looking for that, were you?"

"No, not in particular. But that's what's there."

"Now what?" she asked.

"Let's run it by the boss."


	9. Another Talk with Father Sean

Deakins looked from one detective to the other. "You're serious."

"The pattern fits, Captain. Nothing else does," Goren explained.

"Do you have a suspect?"

"Not yet. But I think a stake out of St Cecelia's next week is in order."

"When the next body is due... You think he'll make another dump at St. Cecelia's?"

Goren nodded. "We think he's panicking, and St. Cecelia's is a familiar and comfortable place for him."

"It's all we have," Eames added. She was trusting her partner and they had not mentioned their most recent conversation with the parish secretary. They both knew Deakins would have told them to bring Father Sean in, and Goren had convinced her, at least for the time being, that Father Sean was not their man.

"I was hoping you would get this all figured out before another body is discovered," the captain commented.

Goren looked frustrated. He shrugged and held his hands out. "We'll do our best. We have the profile. We have the MO. We have the parishioner list. But we don't have a suspect to fit any of it."

"Are you even sure this guy is a parishioner?"

For a minute, Goren looked lost. "No."

Deakins sighed, studying his most brilliant detective. If there was a way to find this guy, Goren was the one who could do it. "Ok. Do what you can, and if you are still empty-handed when the time comes, go ahead with the stake out."

They left the office. He dropped his portfolio onto the desk and flopped into his chair. Eames looked at him. He looked better. He was no longer beginning to drift beyond her reach. "We'd better be right about this, Bobby."

He looked up at her. 'We.' His face relaxed into an appreciative smile. "We are, Eames."

She was happy to see not just the smile, but the glow in his eyes. He felt more in control now. She watched him as he flipped open his portfolio and returned to the files. He was no longer consumed by them. They were close…all they had to do was find the suspect.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One of the detectives called across the room. "Goren, line two."

He picked up the phone. "Goren."

"Detective, this is Father Sean. Mrs. Dunbarton said you wanted to talk with me."

"Yes, Father. Can we come out to talk with you now?"

"I have Mass in a half hour. I can talk to you after that."

"We'll see you then."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Father Sean sat behind his desk and looked at the two detectives as they took the chairs in front of him. "What can I help you with?"

"The Ten Commandments."

"What about them?"

Goren leaned his head to the left. "You know what I'm talking about, Father. That…that was what you were trying to tell me, after we found the seventh body…when you told me to look at the murders…and think."

"You're a smart man, Detective. A thinker."

"You have no idea, Father," Eames put in.

Father Sean sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I did not violate my oath by what I told you."

"I know that," Goren agreed. "No one thinks you did. But that is what you were pointing us toward." The priest met his eyes, but he didn't say anything. Goren leaned forward, his face intense. "Does another man have to die for us to catch this killer?"

Father Sean leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. When he looked back at the detectives, there were tears in his eyes. "You have to understand me, Detective Goren. I am not trying to be difficult. You have no idea how much this has been eating at me."

"Yes, he does, Father," Eames said quietly. "He does understand, and he has been as troubled as you have."

The priest closed his eyes again. Both of them could see his pain when he looked at them. "I can imagine and I am sorry. I bear the burden of that as well. But I _cannot_ tell you anything more, not even to save the life of another…not even to save my own life. The Church is very clear about this, and I am bound by those laws."

"What about our laws?" Eames asked.

"The laws of God supercede the laws of men."

She was frustrated from talking in circles and angry at what this had been doing to her partner and, by extension, to her. "Does obstruction of justice mean anything to you, Father? What about prison?"

"Eames…" Goren said gently. She sat back, fuming. He turned his attention back to the priest. "Father Sean, do you realize that every one of our victims has come to you for counseling in the last year?"

The color drained from the priest's face. "No…"

Goren handed him the list. He read through it once, then twice. A look of horrified guilt settled on his face. "I'm sorry, detectives. I…I really need to go."

"He was here, wasn't he? He was staying here, or at least he was here a lot of the time. He knew the comings and goings of people in the parish, who came to see you and why…he overheard, or read the files…and you had no idea…"

Father Sean looked like he was going to be sick. "Really, I have to go. I…you know the way out."

He left the office quickly. Goren looked at his partner. She shook her head. "He never knew. No wonder he looked sick." They headed out of the rectory. "Ok, I admit it, you were right. I don't think Father Sean has played any part in these murders."

"It's not about being right. It's about catching this guy."

"Well, we know a lot more than we did this morning," she pointed out.

"Yeah, almost everything…except who he is."


	10. Even Geniuses Dream

**A/N: Here it is: more talk, BA ship and fluff, for those who want/need it!**

* * *

Eames drove her partner home the night of the stakeout. They were going to have dinner, then head to St. Cecelia's. "I hope you've been shopping," she said. "I saw what was in your fridge and I don't think a hard-boiled egg and a bottle of beer is going to cut it." 

He tried not to smile. "I have milk if you don't want beer."

"You'd better not be serious, Goren."

He laughed softly. "How does chicken marsala sound?"

She stared at him. "Are you teasing me?"

"I know better. Yes, I went shopping. I know you like Italian and I know you like chicken. And I can cook."

"Finally, the man of my dreams."

He laughed again as she parked near his building. She got a small case out of the back seat and they went up to his apartment. He looked at her, eyes bright with amusement. "I'd tell you to make yourself at home…"

He smiled and shrugged at the look in her eyes, then hurried into the kitchen. She grinned to herself. He was in a good mood…he felt confident about catching the killer tonight. She shared his confidence, if not his enthusiasm.

She sat on the couch and looked around the living room. Tonight was the first time in too long that case files had not exploded all over the place. She almost forgot how neat and tidy this room usually was. His was certainly not the apartment that came to mind when the term 'bachelor pad' was used. Of course, he spent relatively little time here…most of the time he was with her, chasing suspects and solving cases. And she realized how much she loved her life…because he was in it. She picked up a magazine from the coffee table and leafed through it until he called her to eat. He set a plate in front of her. "If we weren't going on a stakeout, I'd give you wine. Coffee will have to do."

"Wow, Bobby, this smells great…when did you learn to cook like this?"

"I started learning to cook…when I was a teenager, out of necessity."

"Well, if it tastes half as good as it smells, you'll have a fan for life."

He tilted his head at her, a half-smile on his face. "I thought I already did."

She just gave him a look that made him laugh. Setting a cup of coffee by her plate, he sat across from her. She studied him while they ate. He didn't look as fatigued as he had been. They had almost finished dinner when she ventured to ask, "Have you been sleeping better?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I sleep, just not very well."

"Is it the case?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly? Ok, I'll bite. What else do you dream about?"

He looked at her, surprised. "What makes you think I dream?"

"Everyone dreams, Bobby. Even geniuses."

Now what? He couldn't tell her that he dreamed about her. When he took her from his dreams, what did he have left? Nightmares. That's what. "You don't want to go there, Alex. My dreams are not a place for someone like you." That wasn't quite true, either. She _was_ there. But that wasn't something he wanted her to find out.

"Someone like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't get mad. I just think you deserve better than what's in my head." He paused for a moment, but she wasn't going to change the subject. He sighed. "My dreams are filled with John Tagmans and Dan Croydens. When I go to sleep, that's who I see." _When I don't see you_, he added in his mind.

Now she didn't quite know what to say. When she asked the question, she expected a more typical answer. She forgot who she was talking to. She knew he was haunted by his memories…why would they not spill over into his dreams? "I'm sorry, Bobby. I should have known. I wish there was something I could do."

There was…and she did it every night. When he drifted off, and the nightmares began, they would often be chased away by dreams of her…dreams of them…dreams that would never become reality…oh, great…now he was depressed. "Forget it, Eames. How could you have known? Just enjoy your dinner."

"I didn't mean to upset you. Who would have thought talking about dreams would cause a problem?"

His face relaxed into an affectionate smile, one of her favorites. "There's no problem." He looked toward the kitchen. "It's getting late. We need to get ready."

He got up from the table, placed his empty plate and coffee cup in the sink and headed back to the bedroom. She still felt badly for upsetting him. She finished the last of her dinner, very impressed with how well he could cook. Usually, when one of them made dinner, it was something simple and hard to screw up, like spaghetti. Even her brother, who couldn't heat a can of soup, could make spaghetti. She set her dishes in the sink with his and headed back to his room. The door was slightly ajar. "Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

She pushed the door open. He'd changed into a pair of black jeans and was pulling on a black t-shirt. His Kevlar vest was on the bed; hers was down in the car. "Bobby, are you all right? I didn't mean to upset you."

He tucked in his t-shirt and buckled his belt, clipping his badge to it. Checking his gun, he slid it into the holster. Then he picked up his vest, looked at his partner and walked over to where she stood by the door. He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up toward his. "I'm fine. Promise. You didn't upset me. Now we have a killer to catch, so don't worry about me."

She held his eyes, not wanting to look away. She managed a small smile. "If you're sure," she said softly.

He leaned closer, gently kissing her, lingering long enough to let her know it was more than a friendly kiss. "I'm sure. You'd better get ready."

His thumb caressed the line of her jaw for a moment longer before he stepped away and left the room. She stood there for a minute before she rested her fingers on her lips and looked after him, wondering what the hell had just happened. He appeared in the doorway with her bag. "Something wrong?"

She took the bag. "No, nothing."

He smiled at her, then pulled the door closed and went into the living room. He dropped into the easy chair. Why had he done that? It had just seemed the right thing to do. He'd been wanting to do that for longer than he could remember, but he had to admit his timing sucked. She hadn't seemed upset…in fact, she seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. He took it as a good sign that she hadn't punched him. Maybe there was hope that his dreams were not all in vain…

She came out of the bedroom, dressed in a dark sleeveless shirt and pants. She dropped her bag onto the couch and looked at him. "Ready?"

He nodded. "Let's go bag ourselves a killer."

He opened the door, waiting for her to go first. "Uh, Alex, back in the bedroom…"

She stopped in front of him and looked straight up into his eyes. "Goren, if you apologize for kissing me, I swear I will kick your ass."

Sliding her hand behind his head, she pulled him down and kissed him, hard. Then she released him just as quickly and headed out the door. She got almost to the elevator before she realized he wasn't behind her. "Are you coming or not?"

He stepped out into the hall and shut the door, joining her at the elevator. He didn't say a word. She looked at him sideways and smiled to herself. He deserved that. He had sent her reeling back in the bedroom with that soft kiss, and she wanted more. If he was going to second guess himself, like he often did, that wasn't going to happen, and if he left her hanging like that, she really would kick his ass. So she let him know, in terms he could not misinterpret, that he had done the right thing…and there _was_ more to come.


	11. Stakeout

They sat in the SUV, in the dark, watching the empty church and waiting. It was just midnight, a nearly full moon hiding behind clouds that came and went. Eames looked at her partner when the moon briefly peeked out from behind its cloud cover. He was thinking. When she called his name, though, he didn't answer, and she began to worry how far inside he'd turned again and why. She reached over and laid a hand on his arm. He looked at her, saw the worry in her eyes…"What? What's wrong?"

She let out a sigh of relief. "You…scared me. That's all."

"I what? How did I scare you?"

"You have no idea what I've been through these last few weeks, do you?" When the confusion remained on his face, she said, "The past couple of weeks have had me running scared. I need some reassurance from you, dammit."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been worried about you, Bobby. You've been more withdrawn than I have ever seen you. I've been afraid…" She stopped for a minute, frightened at the intensity of her emotions.

He frowned. "Afraid? Afraid of what?" He didn't think his scrappy little partner was afraid of anything.

She met his eyes. "Afraid I was losing you, you baboon. I've been terrified that you were going to turn so far into yourself that I wasn't going to be able to get you back."

He was silent, studying her with an odd look on his face. "I really had you…worried…that much?"

"Damn it, Goren…you can see the smallest detail and pick up on the most remote clues, but you can't see something that's right in front of your face. Why does it surprise you that I care about you so much?"

He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He just looked at his hands and fidgeted. She hadn't taken her hand from his arm, so she leaned closer and slid her hand down to his. Without hesitation he gently closed his hand around hers. "Sometimes, I just don't understand you, Bobby," she said softly. "And I want to understand you."

Finally he looked at her. "No one knows me like you do," he said quietly. "You know…I never worry about getting into their minds. I don't worry…about getting lost and never…coming back."

"I know you don't," she answered. And that drove her crazy, because she _did_ worry about it.

He looked down at their hands. Her hand was warm, soft, and it felt good to hold it. "There's a reason I don't worry. I used to…be concerned. It used to cross my mind, after every case, 'what if I don't come back next time?' But I didn't put too much effort into worrying about it, because it never…mattered. I didn't have a lot to come back to. The job…the job always kept me going. And my responsibilities…but I realized that some day it wasn't going to be enough. Then things changed."

"What changed?"

"I got you for a partner," he said sincerely.

"What did that change?"

He looked back at her. "It changed me, Alex. It gave me…a reason to come back. We both know what they say about you. And it's true. I'm not such a nut job when you're around," he smiled.

She laughed. "You're not a nut job. You're just…intense…and brilliant. You make people uneasy because you're so damn good at what you do, and you just don't care what anyone thinks."

"Yeah, well, that's not quite true any more. I do care what you think."

"You have no reason to worry about me. The more I know you, the more I enjoy being with you. I've never known anyone like you."

"Is that good or bad? No, wait, I don't think I want to know."

"It's good, Bobby. I promise, it's very good."

He looked away again, thinking. Just when she thought he wasn't going to say anything more, he said, "Thank you, Alex."

"For what?"

"For staying. For giving me a reason to come back." He looked at her. "As long as you're here, I'll always come back."

"I don't want to be anywhere else." She released his hand, reluctantly, and checked the two-way to make sure it was on. She clipped it onto her belt. It was fast approaching the time for their quarry to make his move. They had to pay attention to the church now. She touched his cheek and smiled. He winked at her, then settled back in his seat to watch.

----------------------------------------

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Stakeouts were her least favorite part of the job. She hated just sitting and waiting. Goren was good at that, but she never had been. She got bored a lot more easily than her partner did. He was so used to being alone, all the sitting and waiting didn't bother him. His mind was used to being busy, even when his body wasn't.

"Eames…" His body was alert, his attention caught by movement near the church. She followed his gaze. A figure had appeared at the far corner of the rectory, mostly hidden in the shadows. Both detectives slumped down in their seats. The figure disappeared, then reappeared, but something was different. He was carrying something across his shoulders. They let him approach the church, climb the steps, unload his burden…

"Now!" he whispered.


	12. Standoff

They exploded from the car, guns drawn. Goren shouted, "Police! Stop right there and hold your hands where we can see them!"

The figure froze for half a second, then ran up the steps, across the front of the church and down the steps to the alley that ran along the side of the building. They took off after him, Eames pulling the radio from her belt. "Suspect is running toward the back of the church! We're in pursuit!"

Sirens rent the night air and she pushed herself harder to catch up to her partner. She ran through a doorway in a stone wall and slid to a halt beside him. Stone walls surrounded them, enclosing a well-landscaped courtyard between the church and the rectory. Stone benches were scattered about the area. In this place of peace and contemplation, they faced a man who had killed and mutilated at least eight others, assuming the body he unloaded on the church steps followed his pattern.

There was only one other entrance, across the courtyard, similar in size and shape to the doorway they had just passed through. Both detectives had their guns trained on the suspect. As the moon emerged from behind the clouds, he stepped back two steps, into a shaft of moonlight. He was a young man, a teenager, no older than twenty. His face was filled with terror and he held a knife in front of him.

Goren stepped toward him. "Calm down. I don't want to hurt you."

Eames looked over her shoulder when she heard the door creak behind her. Two uniformed patrolmen entered the courtyard, guns also drawn. She motioned for them to stay put, to give her partner a chance to talk the killer down. She'd seen him do it many times.

"How did you know I was here? Did Father Sean tell you..."

His voice was filled with panic and betrayal; tears were streaming down his face. "No," Goren told him, his voice calm, reassuring. "Father Sean never told us anything. He couldn't. When you confessed to him, he was bound by Church law not to tell us anything. That's an unbreakable vow for a priest. He never told us."

"Then why are you here?"

"You led us here."

"I…no…you're trying to trick me."

"No trick. You dumped your last two bodies here, because you feel safe here. This is like home to you. Dumping the bodies around the city became too stressful, so you came here."

"No…" he whimpered, his body sagging.

Goren took a couple of slow steps toward him. The young man jumped back, raising his arm, moonlight glinting off the steel of the knife he held in his trembling hand. "Stay back!"

He stopped, but didn't lower the Glock pointed at the man's head. "I don't want to hurt you," Goren repeated gently. "What's your name?"

"Rodney. Rodney Morrison."

"Rodney...you didn't mean to hurt anyone. You were just doing God's will."

"Yes! God told me to eliminate the sinners. He led me to those men."

"When they came to talk to Father Sean...you found out what they had done, who they were, and God told you to set them as examples..."

"Yes! He did! Did God talk to you, too?"

Goren smiled and shook his head. "Not directly. But I know why you did what you did. Why don't you give me that knife, Rodney? God didn't tell you to hurt us."

"He told me to eliminate the sinners. I had to do it. I have more to do."

"No, Rodney. You made your point. Let us help you finish your job without hurting anyone else."

Slowly, Goren worked his way, bit by bit, closer to the distraught, frightened and dangerous young man. Eames stayed back behind her partner, so Rodney could focus on Goren. But she kept a clear line of sight to the killer, concentrating on his movements so Goren could concentrate on disarming him. "You want me to put my knife down and then you'll shoot me."

"No," Goren said calmly. "That's not how I do things. Look..." He held his gun out to the side, stepping closer. "I'll put my gun down."

Stepping back again, Rodney shook his head. "No!" he screamed. "No! God will protect me so I can finish what I have to do! You can't stop me!" Goren brought his gun back to bear on the screaming man. Rodney had slipped beyond his reach.

Rodney backed up again, dropping the knife and raising his hands to his head. He screamed, bending over, folding his arms across his stomach. As the big detective moved toward him, he straightened up, a gun in his hand. He leveled the gun at Goren, and gunfire erupted, shattering the silence of the night.


	13. Officer Down

Both Goren and Rodney went down. Eames pulled out the radio as she holstered her gun and ran to her partner. "Shots fired! Officer down!"

The courtyard suddenly filled with police officers. Eames dropped to her partner's side. "Bobby?"

She saw blood trickling from the side of his head and he moaned. She examined the bullet wound that tracked along his head, but it didn't seem that bad despite the amount of blood. Running her hands over his vest, she found two impact sites. In the absence of his Kevlar vest, those bullets would have been fatal. His eyelids fluttered and he raised a hand to his head. He opened his eyes and frowned at her in confusion. She was relieved to see him awake. "Stay put. There's an ambulance on the way."

"For what? Let me up, Eames. I'm ok."

She showed him her bloodied hand. "You call this ok?"

He pushed himself up to a sitting position and felt his injury. "It's fine. Just a graze."

"Do you have a handkerchief with you?"

He pulled it out and handed it to her. He watched her face as she cleaned the blood from the side of his head and face. Then she pressed the cloth against his wound. "Hold that there."

He placed his hand over hers, leaving enough room for her to slide her hand out. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Will you at least let them look at you when they get here?"

He studied her face, noting her concern and realizing she would give him no choice when the time came. "Ok, I'll let them look."

He started to get to his feet, and she grabbed his arm to help him. He stumbled slightly, but regained his footing quickly as she steadied him. When he felt steady enough to walk, he nodded at her and she released her hold on his arm. He went over to where the young killer had fallen while Eames picked up his gun and tucked it into her waistband. She joined her partner as he squatted beside Rodney and laid two fingers against his throat. Looking up at her, he shook his head. Eames closed her eyes. _Another demon for his nightmares_, she reflected sadly.

Goren examined the killer's body. "Eames, look at this." She squatted beside the body opposite him. He rested one arm across his knee, still holding the bloody handkerchief; his other hand was pressed against his mouth. "Do you have my gun? How many shots did I fire?"

She pulled out his gun, counted the rounds. "You fired twice."

He sat still for a moment, staring at the body. Then, gathering himself, he pointed and said, "Here, in his shoulder. This is…my bullet. This is where I aimed, to disarm him. Then here..." He pointed to the bloodied chest. "I aimed for his arm, but he turned into the path of the bullet and I hit him here, in the heart…the killing shot." She wasn't able to interpret his tone, but he rushed on. "He was hit two more times, here…and here." He indicated another entrance wound on Rodney's chest and one in his upper abdomen. "Did you fire?"

"No, I didn't."

"Where's his gun?"

They looked around until they found it. He pulled the clip out and counted out the bullets. "This is a fifteen round clip, and…one in the chamber…" He dropped the bullets into her hands. "There are fourteen rounds there…plus one…two..." He indicated the two chest shots he took, wincing when he tapped his chest. "So where did this round come from?" He pointed to his head.

Eames looked across the courtyard to where the two uniforms stood. No…She turned back to her partner. He had moved to stand where he had been when he'd gotten shot. He motioned for Eames to stand where Rodney had been. She watched his face as he replayed what had happened in his mind. He turned to look behind him, catching himself when he stumbled. She was concerned that he was still unsteady and she walked to his side, grabbing his arm. "Bobby…"

He held up a hand, looking from where the two cops stood talking andback to Rodney's body. Then he looked at his partner. "Do you know what I'm thinking?"

She nodded. "Unfortunately, I do."

The corners of his mouth moved and she understood his smile without needing to see it. She touched his arm and he nodded. "Come on," he said softly. She followed him over to where the uniforms were. He looked from one officer to the other. "Which one of you fired?"

They looked at each other, and he lost his patience. "Don't look at each other! Look at me! There are three shots unaccounted for—including this one." He held out the blood-soaked handkerchief. Neither officer answered. "Give me your guns."

Again they looked at each other. Eames stepped in. "Now. Your guns."

Reluctantly, they turned their weapons over to the two detectives. Both guns had been discharged; each had fired two shots. Goren swore. But before he could say anything, another officer approached, one wearing sergeant's stripes. "What's the problem here?"

Eames grabbed her partner's arm as he faltered again when he turned to face the sergeant. "Come on over here and sit down, Bobby."

She helped him over to one of the stone benches. The sergeant followed them. Sitting beside her partner, she looked at the sergeant. "One of your officers shot my partner," she said angrily.

"Are you sure it wasn't the suspect…"

"Yes, Sergeant. We are positive it wasn't the suspect." She pulled out her notepad. "I want names and badge numbers." She wrote them down. "We'll leave it to IAD to sort out; I'm sure they'll be here soon." Internal Affairs was always called out for an officer-involved shooting. _They are going to eat this one up_, she reflected with disdain. She handed the weapons to the sergeant. "Tell your captain to expect a call from my captain."

One of the patrolmen stepped forward. "We're on your side, detective. We were backing you up. What the hell…"

She cut him off. "I'll tell you 'what the hell!' One of you fired off a wild shot and hit my partner in the head. What are you, rookies?"

The officer looked over his shoulder at his partner. She shook her head. "In any event, you both have to stand responsible for your actions, officer. You are just damn lucky you didn't kill him. I don't know if you panicked or what happened but you are going to take responsibility for this, whichever one of you fired that shot. This is not how you back up a fellow officer!" She was done with them. "Get the hell out of here."

She turned back to her partner, surprised to see amusement on his face. "What are you smirking at, Goren?"

"I'm just glad not to be on the receiving end of that temper."

"Detectives?" They turned to face Father Sean. "I heard the sirens, and I saw what happened. Are you ok, Detective Goren?"

"I'm fine, Father," he answered as Eames looked past the priest, to where he had laid his jacket over Rodney's chest and head.

"You have a better heart than I do, Father," she said.

He followed her gaze. "I knew him, Detective, before he became the monster you saw." He looked at Goren. "You gave him every chance."

Brown eyes turned to meet the priest's. "He didn't want any chances. He just wanted peace."

Father Sean nodded. "You've given him that now. He would have had it no other way."

They watched the priest head across the courtyard in the direction of the rectory. Goren leaned forward, arms on his knees, studying his hands. Eames wondered how much Rodney's peace was going to cost her partner. She saw the paramedics enter the courtyard and leaned forward to look at his face. "Let the paramedics look at you," she said softly.

He just nodded. One of the paramedics sat beside him, examining the scalp wound. He opened his first aid kit and bandaged the wound. "You could use a couple of stitches, Detective. How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"Any dizziness or pain?"

He shook his head. "I feel fine. It hurts some, like a headache, but that's all."

"Let me take a look at your chest, while we're at it. Let's get this vest off." He helped Goren take off the vest and lift up his shirt. He studied the already extensive bruising. Gently pressing over the areas where the bullets had impacted, he gauged the detective's pain response to the pressure. "Better get this looked at, too. You might have fractured a rib. We could take you in, if you want."

"No thanks. My partner can take me in later. We still have work to do here."

"If you're sure…"

He nodded. "I'm sure." He got up from the bench and walked off.

Eames watched him go, then looked at the paramedic. "He's ok?"

"Seems to be. Like I said, he could use a couple of stitches, but it's a superficial injury. He's going to hurt for a week or two, but he'll be fine. He got lucky."

She nodded. "Very lucky."

The paramedic nodded toward the body. "The ME's already been called."

She nodded. "Thanks."

She watched the paramedic leave, but she fought down the impulse to go and find Goren. If she knew her partner, he would want some time with the dark thoughts that were his alone. She was willing to give him that time. There were enough cops around to let her know if he ran into any trouble. So she sat there, on the cold stone bench, feeling utterly alone.

* * *

"Alex?" 

She looked up, having no idea how long she'd sat there. "Captain…"

He sat beside her. "What the hell happened, Alex? I got a call saying my detectives had been involved in a shooting and one of you had been hit."

She noticed his look of concern directed toward her bloody hand and the bloody handkerchief that sat on her partner's Kevlar vest. "No, it wasn't me. I'm fine. Bobby…was hit by one of ours."

"One of our what?"

Slowly, more because she was struggling to control her emotions—her fear and her rage—than for any other reason, she explained what had happened. Finally, she said, "Rodney fired two bullets, both hit Bobby in the chest, but he was wearing his vest. A third bullet grazed his head, and that one was fired by one of the two patrolmen who were standing over by the gate. Two other shots fired by the patrolmen hit the suspect, but the killing shot was Bobby's. He wasn't aiming to kill…" She trailed off. Deakins knew Goren well enough to know this was not going to sit well with the big detective.

"Where is he?"

"Let's go find him."


	14. Shutting Down

They found him sitting on the steps of the church, his head in his hands. Eames sat on one side of him, Deakins on the other. He looked up, first at his captain, then at his partner. He sighed. "The body…out here…the one Rodney dropped…It fits the pattern. Male Caucasian, thirties…The eighth Commandment…You shall not bear false witness…don't lie. He was strangled and his tongue was removed…like the second victim. If you…offend with your words…"

Eames nodded. "You remove the source of the offense. Your tongue gets cut out."

Goren nodded. He rested his head on his hand again. Deakins asked, "Are you ok, Bobby?"

He nodded. "Just very tired."

"You need to go to the hospital to get treated." He looked at Eames, who nodded. "Take him to the hospital, then both of you go home and get some rest. I'll deal with IAB for now. Where's your gun, Bobby?"

"Alex has it."

She handed it to the captain, along with the names and badge numbers of the two patrolmen. "These are the two officers who were also involved in the shooting."

"Go, now," Deakins said. "And call me later. Bobby, you know you'll have to see psych before I can put you back on duty."

Goren nodded. The captain headed back to the courtyard. Eames watched her partner. "You ready?"

"Whenever you are."

They headed down the steps toward the car. She reached out to steady him when she thought he would falter, and he looked at her with a tired, but reassuring smile. "We'll get you checked out and get you home."

"Sounds like a plan."

She watched him walk around the car and get in before she slid behind the wheel. He didn't say anything as she started the car and pulled away from the curb. "Talk to me, Goren."

He looked at her. "About what?"

"About what you're feeling."

"Right now, I just feel tired."

"The head injury?"

"That's probably part of it."

"All right…we'll talk about it later, ok?"

He waved his hand. "Sure, Eames. Whatever you want."

He turned to look out the window. By the time they got to the hospital, he was sleeping.

--------------------------------------------------------

Four hours, two x-rays and fifteen stitches later, they returned to the car. He had two broken ribs from the impact of Rodney's bullets through his vest and orders to take it easy. Eames turned out of the hospital lot onto the street and headed for his apartment. "Are you feeling any better?"

"No. I just want to go home and go to sleep."

She was quiet for a few blocks. "Bobby, about Rodney, and what happened…"

"Not now, Eames."

"Why not? We have to talk about it. You know that."

"I know," he said softly. "But not now."

He turned back to the window and didn't say anything more. She understood how he was when he got like this. He was shutting down and she would get nowhere with him, so she left him alone.


	15. Breakdown

She parked the car outside his building and turned the engine off. She looked at her partner, who hadn't moved much the entire drive home. Maybe his injuries could explain that, but she did not think that was all of it. In fact, she knew it wasn't. He turned his head to look at her. "I guess you're staying?"

"Yes, Bobby. I'm staying. At least until I know you're okay."

"And just telling you I am…?"

"…Is not going to work and you know it. Come on."

They got out of the car and headed into the building. She caught him when he stumbled on the steps. He leaned against the wall as they waited for the elevator. She knew he was exhausted and hurt…and more…but he still wasn't in a place where he would talk to her about it. As injured as his body was, his spirit was suffering just as much…if not more. And she was not about to leave him until he let her help to heal the damage.

---------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as they entered the apartment, he headed toward the bedroom. She hadn't seen him like this in a long time. He was really hurting. She followed him down the hall and stood in the doorway as he dropped onto the bed. He raised his hand to his head and rested his forearm across his forehead. She walked over to the bed and sat beside him. Gently, she touched his cheek and ran her fingers down along his jawline. "Get some sleep," she said softly. "I'll be here when you wake up."

He looked at her through half-closed eyes. "I know you will. Uh…I…do you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

"Then lie down and go to sleep. The bed is a lot more...comfortable than the couch, and I want you...to be comfortable."

She leaned down and gently kissed him. "Go to sleep," she whispered.

He half-smiled, and she was reassured. She got up and walked to the window, looking out. The sun was up, and the street was quiet. This was a nice neighborhood. She wondered if any of the neighbors knew a cop was living among them. She pulled the curtains closed so that the room was dark. Turning back into the room, she looked at her big partner. He was sleeping. She studied him for a long time, thinking. Then she realized what she was doing…she was being just like him…thinking too much, over-analyzing. She laughed at herself and walked over to the bed, gently covering him with the blanket. Then she sat on the edge opposite him, kicked off her shoes and slid under the blanket beside him. Turning onto her side, facing him, she closed her eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.

---------------------------------------------------

_The courtyard was dark. He held his gun, leveled at a young man's head. The darkness got heavier, like a weight pressing down on him. His finger tightened on the trigger, and the gun in his hand erupted. Blood flowed over the ground, running down the cobbled stone toward him, and he dropped to his knees, gun falling from his hand into the blood…_

"No!" He sat up, pain firing through his chest and his head. "No…"

He buried his head in his hands, focusing on his physical pain, and nothing else. Seemingly from out of nowhere, hands came to rest on his back. He felt the gentle whisper of someone's breath on his ear, a soft kiss caressed his cheek. And that was it. He turned into her arms, buried his face in her shoulder, and he cried. She just held him, stroking his hair, kissing his temple. Neither said a word…and after a long while, he went back to sleep…and she held him.


	16. Sorting It Out with Internal Affairs

Deakins looked at the two plainclothes officers in front of him. Beyond them stood three uniformed officers. Two stood silent and stoic, the third paced near them, listening to Deakins talk with the officers from Internal Affairs.

"I talked with Detective Eames, and she told me what went down. Detective Goren has a…gift for being able to talk to people. Eames was giving him the chance to talk Morrison down. If anyone could do it, I guarantee Goren would be the one. When Morrison drew on him, there was no choice. She said Morrison fired first, then Goren fired. He fired twice, both bullets struck Morrison on the torso. Morrison also fired twice, into Goren's chest. Those four bullets are accounted for and confirmed that they came from those two weapons. Now comes the odd part. Morrison took two more bullets, and Goren was hit in the head. That's three bullets unaccounted for by the primary parties involved in the shooting. Goren took out the perp and he had the situation under control; there was no reason for anyone else to get involved. As for my detective getting shot, I am furious about that, and I want to know exactly what the hell happened out there. Detective Eames did not fire her weapon." He looked at the two officers and their sergeant, then back at the two officers in front of his desk. "Ok, I'm waiting. I want answers and I want them now."

The two internal affairs officers turned to look at the precinct cops. The sergeant said, "You have their guns."

"Yes, we do," Deakins agreed. "And both weapons had been discharged. The other two slugs recovered from Morrison matched Patrolman Carson's weapon."

All eyes turned to Bill Carson's partner, Dean Rogers. Deakins stood up and looked at the young officer. "Well, Officer Rogers?"

"We were there for backup. When the shooting started, I followed my partner's lead and I aimed for the perp."

"But your shots went wild. How do you explain that?"

Rogers looked at the floor. Their sergeant, a ten year veteran named Carl Monahan, spoke up. "This was his first shooting, Captain. We all know that none of us can predict how we'll react when the time comes, no matter how much training or preparation we have."

"So what went wrong, Rogers?"

"I thought I had it, sir. But my hand started shaking…and my weapon has a light trigger…and I…lost control of it. I didn't…I didn't mean to shoot your detective. I…I'm glad he's going to be ok, though."

Deakins leaned on his desk. "You're lucky he's going to be ok. I've already talked with your captain. Your disposition will be up to him, but don't count on going back on the street any time soon." He motioned toward the door with his head. "Now get out of here."

The three officers left and Deakins sat back down. The senior internal affairs officer, Trevor Andrews, said, "Have you talked to Goren or Eames since this morning?"

He nodded. "I talked with Eames about a half hour ago. Goren has two fractured ribs from Morrison's bullets. Good thing he was wearing his vest. It took fifteen stitches to close the wound in his head from Rogers' stray bullet."

"Well, I don't thing there's anything more we need from you, Captain. We'll clear Goren in the shooting and as soon as he sees psych and they clear him, you can give him back his gun."

They shook hands and the two officers left Deakins' office. No surprises there, the captain mused as he sat back down. Goren wasn't completely a 'by-the-book' cop, but when he drew his gun, he followed procedure to the letter. He had a cop's instinct, honed by a lifetime of being a cop. Deakins never doubted his detectives when it came to these situations, and he always backed them a hundred per cent. They had never let him down.

He rubbed his eyes. Alex had told him that she was worried about her partner. He wasn't talking about the shooting yet, but she knew he was troubled. Well, if there was anything he had learned over the last five years, it was that Goren and Eames would take care of each other. Alex would take care of her partner, if anyone could, and like it or not, Goren would let her. He felt good that they would be ok. They just needed some time…time to rest and to talk. And when they came back, Goren would see psych to be cleared for duty, and he would put his best detectives back on the street, to do what they do best.

He looked at the clock. Almost six…geez…he was going to be late for dinner. He finished the report that was in front of him, signed it and dropped it in his 'out' basket. Then he headed for the elevators.


	17. Pain and Passion

The room was dark when he woke. He turned his throbbing head to look at the clock. It said 9:34. He was still exhausted and it seemed like his whole body hurt, but he got up and walked to the window. Parting the drapes, he looked out onto the nighttime street. It was quiet, peaceful. Everything that he did not feel inside. Pulling the drapes closed, he went into the bathroom.

The rest of the apartment was dark as well. He was alone, alone with his thoughts, which could be a very dangerous place to be. He was in a dark place right now, and he wanted to be there alone. But another part of him didn't want to be alone. He went into the kitchen where a pot of fresh coffee was sitting in the maker. He poured himself a cup and got the milk out of the refrigerator. There was another coffee cup sitting on the table. He returned the milk to its place and, taking his cup, walked over to the table. Carefully lowering himself into a chair, he took the second cup and smelled it. Sugar. His partner… He lowered his head onto folded arms and closed his eyes against the pain in his body and his soul.

Eames opened the door, entered the apartment and flipped on the light. She was surprised to see him at the table, and concerned when he didn't move. She set the bag in her arms down on the couch and walked to the table. Gently, she placed her hand on his head and stroked his hair. He stirred, lifting his head to look at her. "If you're going to sleep, you should be in bed," she said quietly as she sat down next to him.

He rubbed his face. "Where'd you go?"

"Just down to the store. I got your prescription filled and picked up some soup and some bread. You were still out cold; I didn't think you'd wake up while I was gone."

"Did you talk to Deakins?"

"Yes. He's worried about you, Bobby. So am I."

"Look, Eames, I'm…fine. "

He got up and laid a hand on her shoulder. He wasn't fine, but he didn't want her to worry. He moved his hand to rest on the side of her face, then let it fall away. Walking off, he headed back to the bedroom. She went into the kitchen and took down a glass from the cabinet. She filled it with water, went into the living room and pulled the pharmacy bag out of the sack she had set on the couch. Ripping it open, she took out the prescription bottle, opened it and dumped two pills into her hand. She closed the bottle, set it on the table and headed back to the bedroom.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she crossed the room, sitting on the bed beside him. "Here, take these."

He groaned as he sat up and she placed the pills into one hand and the water in the other. He took the medicine and handed the glass back to her. As he lay back down on the bed, she set the glass on the bedside table and turned her attention back to him. She rested her hand lightly on his bruised chest. "Talk to me, Bobby."

Barely a whisper, her voice sounded like a shout in the dead silence of the room. He sighed. She could hear the pain in his voice. "I killed a man, Eames."

"What choice did you have? He was a cold-blooded killer and he had a gun pointed at you. He didn't hesitate to pull the trigger."

"He was a confused kid."

She pushed her hair back behind her ear and slid up closer to his head. She rested a hand on his cheek. "Bobby, why do you have to own these monsters? Don't you have enough of your own? You can't save them all. Some of them don't want to be saved. It's time for you to realize that." He didn't answer. "Rodney made his choice. You didn't make it for him. Let it go."

"It's not that easy."

"Nothing is easy with you. But you need to move on. There are more people out there for you to put away, more people for you to save from themselves. There are more demons and more victims…We just do the best we can and hope the worst ones never get away. I've been there, remember? We're cops. When someone points a gun in your face, sometimes you have no alternative but to shoot. It's something most of us have to face eventually. We pray it never happens, but when it does, we do what we have to do and we go on. You did exactly what he wanted you to do. What do you think would have happened if you hadn't shot him?" She felt him shrug. "Don't even think I'm going to let you get away with that, Goren. Answer me."

He sighed heavily. "He would have killed someone else."

"Right. He'd already killed eight people. Another two or three would not have mattered. You did your job…to serve and protect…you protected. He would have gone on killing and you know it. He wasn't going to be brought in, by you or anyone else."

She was right, and he knew it. They all had blood on their hands. It came with the job. But Rodney had been a kid. He'd almost talked him down…almost. "I failed on this one, Eames. I almost talked him down. Almost…"

"No, Bobby. You didn't. He was on the edge, and nothing could keep him from going over. Listen to me…" She leaned closer to him. "He knew that when we found him, there would be a showdown. He knew when he dropped that knife, that we were going to take him in alive. He knew you weren't going to kill him…until he drew that gun. He meant to kill you, and he knew that one of us was going to kill him. I don't think he cared if it was you, or me, or one of the others. He knew it was the end of the road. Can you tell me you didn't see that in him?"

No. He'd seen it. He closed his eyes. She leaned over and pressed her cheek against his. "Let it go," she whispered into his ear. "You have enough demons. There was nothing you could do about this one. He wanted to die; you were just the instrument he chose." She kissed his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

She started to sit up, but his hands suddenly slid around her, pulling her back down to him. His mouth covered hers, and he kissed her fiercely. She surrendered to his passion, and his pain. He pulled her onto him, the weight of her body on his flaring the pain in his chest, physical and emotional. But he could feel the darkness lift from his soul. _This_ was a much better place to be.


	18. The Morning After

Goren opened his eyes slowly. God, he hurt. Slowly he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He took a drink of the water that was still sitting on the bedside table. Getting to his feet he headed out of the bedroom. He saw the pill bottle on the table and picked it up. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he turned his head toward it. Eames was watching him from the entry to the kitchen. "You look…" she hesitated, not quite certain how to describe him.

"Like hell?"

"I guess that's one way to put it." She got him a glass of water to take the medicine with. "How are you?"

He sat down at the table and took the medicine. "My head is throbbing and my chest is on fire."

"Maybe you overdid it last night," she suggested as she sat down beside him.

"Maybe." He studied her. "I…I hope I didn't…hurt you."

"You are not apologizing, are you?"

He thought about it for a moment before he shook his head. "No."

"Good. So what's wrong?"

He looked at his hands. "I…um, that's not how it was…supposed to happen."

She looked amused. "You've thought about it before?"

He'd done it now. Why the hell did he open _that_ can of worms? When he didn't answer her, she said, "After watching you interact with women for five years, I'm surprised at how uncertain you are right now. Are you always like this?"

He shook his head. He'd inherited his father's charm, if not his playboy manner. "No. Just with you."

"Why?"

"Because…because you're you. I…I want to…make sure everything is…just right for you."

"And what makes me so special?"

He tipped his head to the side as he looked at her. She was very special…to him. And what made her that way? His heart did. "I…" He trailed off. Reaching toward her, he pushed her hair out of her face, slipping his hand behind her head. Gently he pulled her toward him and kissed her. When his hand fell away and he sat back, he finished his sentence, opening himself fully to her in a way he never had before with another. "I love you."

She studied her partner for a long time. As usual, that was not the answer she'd been expecting and again, he took her fully by surprise. But she had to admit, this was a step she had hoped their relationship would eventually take. Finally she answered him, "I love you, too." She hesitated for a moment before going on. "Bobby, is this going to change anything between us? Can we do this and make it work?"

"Make what work?"

"Us. Our partnership."

"What's changed? Alex, I…I've felt like this for awhile, and nothing changed. Look…work is work. We're partners and we have a job to do. Home is…home. We're partners in a different way. One has nothing to do with the other."

Leave it to him to explain everything so rationally. "What will Deakins have to say about it?"

"Nothing, because we are not going to tell him. I won't lose you as a partner."

"So we have to hide us from the world?"

He leaned closer to her, intense eyes capturing hers. "No. We just go on as we always have. On the job nothing has changed. We walk through that door," he pointed across the room. "And everything changes."

She smiled, closed the distance between them, and kissed him. "Ok, Goren. We'll do it your way. What do you want to eat?"

--------------------------------------------------------------------

He was sleeping when the doorbell rang. She opened the door to find Deakins on the other side. "Hi, Captain."

She stepped back to let him in. "How's he doing?"

"He's moving gingerly," she said with a smile. "But he's ok."

The captain sat in the easy chair as she sat on the couch. "What about the shooting?"

She was quiet for a moment. "He's working through that. He knows he did what he had to do. But it hurts him that he had to do it."

Deakins nodded. He expected no less. "I talked with Internal Affairs. They cleared him on the shooting."

"What about those two patrolmen?"

"Well, the veteran did everything right. Whether he had to do anything at all is irrelevant. Those were his shots that hit Morrison. He was doing his job and backing you guys up. When the kid opened up on Bobby, he fired. I imagine all four shots hit him within seconds of one another."

"But the killing shot?"

Deakins nodded at her. "That one was Bobby's."

"And the other cop?"

"A rookie. His first shooting."

"What a legacy. His first shooting and he shoots another cop."

"He panicked and lost control of his weapon, so his shots were wild. I see evidence clerk or desk sergeant in his future. I doubt his captain will put him back out on the street."

"I hope not."

He studied her. "How are you doing, Alex?"

"I'm fine."

"You're ok, staying here with him?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He nodded. "Ok. I'll give you another two days, then I want you back in the squadroom. Your partner has two weeks. As soon as psych clears him, he can have his gun back. When the department docs say he's ok, you'll both return to full duty. In the meantime, you'll do paperwork and backup."

She nodded. "Thanks, Captain."

He smiled at her and headed to the door. Turning, he said, "Tell him I came by, and I'm glad he's ok."

She nodded. "I will." Deakins left, closing the door behind him. "Great. Paperwork," she muttered.


	19. Storm on the Horizon

It was late, and he was sleeping again. This case had taken more out of him than she had ever imagined. His injuries had wiped out an already utterly exhausted body. She walked into the bedroom, setting the bottle of medicine and a fresh glass of water on his bedside table. She brought the other glass, which was almost empty, into the kitchen.

Back in the bedroom, she looked out the window. A heavy wind was blowing, whipping tree limbs into a frenzy. Green leaves were torn from their branches and blown down the street or carried up toward Heaven. A storm was in the air, and it looked like it was going to be an intense one…not unlike the storm that raged in her partner's soul, thanks to Rodney Morrison. A flash of lightning lit up the street, followed eventually by the low rumble of thunder. It wasn't close right now…but it was coming.

Turning from the window, she looked at her sleeping partner. Unlike the night before, when his sleep had been riddled with nightmares, he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. She walked over to his dresser and found his shirt drawer. Pulling out a dark blue t-shirt, she went into the bathroom and changed into it. Returning to the bedroom, she climbed into the bed beside him. It didn't take her long to drift off.

She opened her eyes suddenly, not sure what had woken her. Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings. The room was dark and quiet, until a flash of lightning brightened it for an instant. A few moments passed before thunder rumbled. She relaxed. The storm would soon be raging overhead. Beside her, he groaned and changed his position, rolling toward her and draping his arm across her waist. She shifted her body against his, and, in his sleep, he tightened his arm around her, pulling her even closer. She lightly kissed his cheek, sliding her lips across unshaven stubble to his. More lightning and thunder intruded into the night as the storm encroached upon the city. He began to respond to her. His hand slid up along her back until he buried his fingers in her hair. The night before, pain and anguish had dictated his actions, and he'd been rough and intense. Tonight, there was none of that. Tonight, there was only tenderness…and love.

Settled in his arms, she listened to the storm rage across the city outside. The lightning was almost constant; the crashing thunder was exploding overhead. His hand gently stroked her skin. Pressing his forehead against her temple, he whispered into her ear, "That was how it should have been, how I meant for it to happen to begin with. Last night…"

She laid her fingers across his lips, silencing him. "You needed it to be the way it was last night. And I let you, because I understood that. It's over and it's done with, and that's how tonight could be the way it was." She kissed him again. "I love you."

He nodded, "I know. And I love you…"

She silenced him again with a soft kiss. He didn't say any more. Enjoying the feel of her in his arms, he tightened his arms around her and before long he was sleeping again. It didn't take long for her to drift off as well.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of her phone ringing pulled her from her sleep and his arms. She walked to the dresser and picked up the phone. "Eames."

"Where's your partner, Alex?" It was Deakins and she did not like the sound of his voice.

She looked at the bed. "He's sleeping. Why?"

She slipped from the room as he said, "I do not want him to find out about this right now. Meet me at St. Cecelia's. They found two more bodies."

"What? And you don't want me to tell him? Captain…"

"I'm serious about this, Eames. He's off duty. Period. Now get down to the church."

She snapped the phone shut and looked toward the bedroom door. "Fuck!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

She pulled up to St. Cecelia's and slammed the door of the car. She was directed into the rectory. Walking into Father Sean's office, she stopped and froze. Deakins looked up at her. "Do you understand now, Alex?" he said softly.

"Oh, God…"

Father Sean lay on the floor behind his desk, a bullet in his chest. In front of the desk was a woman, bullet in her head, gun in her hand. Eames looked around the room, speechless. Deakins appeared at her side. She looked at him. "What happened?"

"The secretary found them this morning when she came in. She's been taken to the hospital. The woman is Sally Mason, widow of our third victim." He handed her a piece of paper. "We found this."

Eames read the note. '_Father Sean, I can never forgive you for harboring the monster who killed my Herb. I cannot live without him, and neither will you._'

Deakins said quietly, "I don't suppose there's any way we can keep him from finding out about this at all, is there?"

"This is Goren we're talking about, Captain. Be real."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Let's get busy so I can get the hell out of here and be back before he wakes up."

------------------------------------------------------------------

It took longer than she expected to process the scene. She was leaning over Father Sean's body when the room suddenly fell dead silent. She looked up and all the color drained from her face.

Standing in the doorway to the office, his face dark and stormy, was her partner.


	20. The Storm Breaks

Eames did not move. She remained where she was, squatting beside the priest's body. She looked over the desk at him and met his eyes. She could see past the storm, and she knew that what dwelled there was her fault.

Deakins stepped toward the big detective and said, "Do not blame your partner for this. I told her not to tell you. You are off duty, Goren. You haven't got your gun back and you have not been cleared for duty. You shouldn't be here."

Goren looked at the captain, but he didn't say a word. He looked at the body of the woman in front of the desk, noting the gun in her hand and the pool of blood beside her head. He slowly walked around the desk and looked down at the priest. Eames saw a new pain cross his face. He squatted beside the body, across from her. She grabbed the note in its evidence bag from the desk and handed it to him. He read it and handed it back. He remained where he was, just looking at Father Sean, for a long time. No one else in the room moved; they just watched him. Finally, he touched the priest's forehead gently and whispered, "I'm sorry."

He said nothing else. Lifting his head, he looked briefly at his partner. Then he stood up and left the room. Eames snapped off her gloves. "Damn!"

Deakins said, "Who the _hell_ told Goren about this?" No one answered. He looked at Eames, helpless. She stepped around the body and told the captain. "You finish here. I'll take care of him."

Deakins grabbed her arm, meeting her eyes with concern. "Alex…"

She pulled her arm from him, angry and upset. "If you had let me tell him, this would not have happened. Don't worry about me, Captain. Worry about him."

She stormed past him and left the rectory. A voice from behind her called her name. She turned and saw one of the detectives from the squad hurrying across the street. "Has Goren been here?"

"Been and gone. Why?"

"Uh, he called the squad looking for you and Jessup told him you were here. _Then_ he remembered what the captain said about not telling him. No one answered their phones, so I came right over."

"Great. You go in and tell that to Deakins. He's _not_ happy. Uh, did Goren know about the priest?"

"Yeah, he did."

"Damn!"

A CSU tech approached her from where he had been working on the widow's car. "Detective Eames, are you going after Goren?"

"Yes, why?"

"Be careful. He was really…agitated."

"What makes you say that?"

He shifted nervously. "When he came out of the rectory and went to his car…he punched the rear door window and shattered it."

Eames nodded. "Thanks."

She ran across the street toward the SUV. She had unlocked the door when Deakins called to her. She stopped as he trotted across the street. "I just heard what he did to his car."

She shook her head. "You don't understand. Look, I have to go…"

He grabbed her arm. "Be careful, Alex. He's very unstable right now."

"You think? He feels betrayed…by the one person in his life he thought he could trust." She shook her head again. "I should have told him. You don't know him like I do." She looked at him, unable to get a handle on her anger and her fear. Not trusting herself to say another word, she turned and got into the car. Slamming the red light into place, she pulled away from the curb and sped off, hoping like hell that her partner went home.

---------------------------------------------------

Eames got out of the car and scanned the area. She did not see Goren's car anywhere. She ran into the building and, not bothering to wait for the elevator, charged up the stairs. She got to his door and tried it. Locked. She pulled out her keys and found his door key with shaking hands.

Pushing the door open, she rushed in and stopped. _Oh, God…_ she thought. The place was trashed. Two book shelves had been cleared and there were books everywhere. There was a wet spot below a dent in the drywall where he'd thrown a glass, shattering it, and more broken glass all over the floor. The coffee table was upended. Gingerly making her way through the living room, she headed down the hall to the bedroom. Two drawers from the dresser were on the floor. In the bathroom, the mirror was shattered, with blood mixed among the shards of glass in the sink. She had been so focused on his face, she had not seen that his hand had been injured. She went into the kitchen…the only room in the apartment that was untouched. She shook her head miserably. She had never seen this kind of rage in him, and she wondered miserably at how much he really was hurting. Goren's trust was a fragile and hard-earned thing…and she, the only person in his life he had thought would never hurt him, had broken it. Looking around the destroyed apartment, she wondered where the hell he could have gone. Sinking to her knees on the floor, she broke into tears.


	21. Shouting Match

Eames didn't know what to do. First, she pulled herself together. She had never hurt like this; she could only imagine how much he was hurting. But she had no idea where he would go or what he would do to deal with that pain. While she turned over in her mind where he might go, she kept busy by cleaning up the apartment. If she didn't keep busy, she'd lose her mind. She didn't dare leave without a plan, and she had nothing. Her phone had rung several times, but it had been Deakins, and she was still too furious to talk to him. Besides, Goren would really be furious if she caused an APB to be put out on him. Every plan she came up with would only make matters worse. She just didn't know what to do.

After two hours, the apartment was clean, and she still had not heard from him. She tried calling him, but was not surprised when he didn't answer. She dropped onto the couch, burying her face in her hands and letting her anger and grief and frustration take over again. She felt helpless, and she hated feeling that way. She wanted to go out and look for him, but New York was a big place and she had no idea even where to start. Again she thought about calling Deakins, and again she vetoed that idea. So she alternated between pacing and trying to call him, crying and talking to herself. She should have told him, and she hated herself for listening to Deakins.

It was past midnight, and she had a knot of dread sitting in her stomach like a molten rock. Where the hell could he have gone? She was sitting on the couch when she heard a key scraping the door. She looked up as the door flew open and hit the coat rack behind it, knocking it over into the wall. Goren stumbled into the room, stopping when he saw her sitting there. He didn't say a word. He looked around the room, then back at her. "Bobby…"

He shook his head. "Don't," he said, raising his index finger. His hand was crusted with dried blood. He shook his head. "No. I don't want to talk about it."

He crossed the room and headed down the hall, slamming the bedroom door. She got up and closed the front door, turning the lock. She set the coat rack upright. Then she stood there looking down the hallway. She was relieved he was home and okay…if you could call his condition ok. She was torn between leaving him alone and seeing how far she could get with him. Concern finally winning out, she headed down the hall to the bedroom.

Opening the door, she entered the dark room. "Eames…" he started.

"Don't say it," she answered.

She opened the bathroom door and turned the light on so she could see. He was lying on the bed, arms beneath his head, staring at the ceiling. "You didn't have to clean up after me," he mumbled.

"What else was I going to do? I didn't even know where to start looking for you."

"Why bother at all?"

Self-pity was the one thing she could not handle from him. "Goddam it, Bobby! I can't do this. I just can't. Go to sleep."

She left the room, slamming the door like he had a few minutes before. She heard a thud, and the door yanked open. He stumbled into the wall, then yelled, "No! Don't…"

She stopped and turned. "Don't what?" she yelled at him. "I don't know what the hell to do, Goren!" She slumped against the wall, utterly miserable.

He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Swearing, he slammed his fist into the wall, busting right through the drywall. She frowned at him. "That's going to hurt in the morning when you sober up."

"It can't be worse…" he trailed off.

"Worse than what, Bobby? Worse than that clenching feeling in your gut, knowing that one of the people you care most about in the world is hurting and you have no idea where the hell he is? Oh, wait…that wasn't you. That was me." Then she got angry. She turned toward him. "Damn you, Goren! It wasn't my idea! Ok, I screwed up! I should have known better! I didn't want to hurt you!" She approached him, leaning into his face, entering his personal space. "I never wanted to hurt you, dammit!" She threw her hands up in the air. "I'm no good at this. I…I don't know what to tell you, or how to make this right. So when you wake up tomorrow, if you feel like working it out, call me."

She turned and started to walk away, but she didn't get far. He grabbed her arm, yanking her back toward him and spinning her to face him. He pulled her against his chest and covered her mouth with his. She pushed against his chest, but he wouldn't release her. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, taste it on his tongue. She could also feel his desperation. He didn't know what the hell to do either. She relaxed, stopped struggling, and put her own fear and pain and anger into her response to him.

Releasing her from his embrace, he was still angry. "Go if you want," he said. He turned and went back into the bedroom, slamming the door again. She heard another slam…another hole in the wall…then silence. She had no idea what to do. He was desperate to find some relief from his inner pain. Alcohol obviously wasn't the way to go---it made him angrier.

She went into the kitchen and poured a glass of milk, pulling out her cell phone. She dialed Deakins. He came on the phone and she could tell he was furious, even though his voice was level. "I've been calling you all day, Detective."

"I've been busy, Captain."

"Any word from your partner?"

"He's home."

Deakins sounded relieved. "Is he ok?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes, Captain. He's ok."

"We found his car, Eames."

"And?"

"It was at Battery Park. There was blood on the steering wheel."

"From a hand injury."

"You sure that's it?"

"Yes."

Deakins sighed heavily. "Look, Eames. I'm sorry, ok? I was trying to do what was best for him."

"This was _not_ it. I knew that."

"This wasn't your fault, Alex."

"Try telling him that."

"I did."

"And you see how well that worked."

He was smart enough to know he wasn't going to get anywhere with her, not right now, and certainly not over the phone. "Is he going to be all right?"

She paused. God, she hoped so. "I'll make sure of it," she answered, hoping she could.

"Call me tomorrow."

"What should I tell him about his car?"

"I had them take it to my house instead of the impound. When he feels up to it, he can come to get it."

"Ok. Good night, Captain."

She closed her phone. Battery Park?

Walking down the hall, she opened the bedroom door and looked in on him. He was on the bed, on his side. She could tell from the steady rise and fall of his chest that he was sleeping. That was good. Sleep was good for him. She pulled the door closed and left him alone to sleep off the result of his anger and pain at her betrayal.


	22. Reflections on Rage

Slowly, Goren opened his eyes. He didn't feel too bad. His chest hurt and his head was pounding mercilessly, but those injuries were only, what, two days old? Maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe Father Sean was ok. Maybe he hadn't shut down that bar and then had a shouting match with his partner. Maybe he really hadn't made her cry. Then he rolled over, and the reality of everything that had become his life came crashing down on him. Dear God, what had he done? He glanced over in the bed, hoping maybe she had forgiven him…but no, and he certainly didn't blame her. The one person in his life he couldn't live without, and he'd chased her away with his dark mood and angry temper. Now what was going to happen to him?

Maybe he could explain, if she'd listen. When he'd called the squad and they'd told him she was at the scene of a murder with Deakins, he'd been ok with that. After all, he wasn't cleared for duty and she had never been taken off duty. When they'd told him Father Sean was the victim, he'd lost it.

His first thought had been, why hadn't she told him? His first emotion had been betrayal, then pain. In a rage, he'd taken out his pain on the apartment. It hadn't helped. He'd poured himself a drink…but ended up shattering the glass against the wall. So he went to St. Cecelia's.

It took all his will power not to hit the captain when he'd told him Eames was working under his orders not to tell him about this. How dare he put her in that situation! Squatting beside the kind priest's body, he felt a huge turmoil of emotion he didn't want or know what to do with. He felt a whirlwind of rage and fury underlying a maelstrom of grief and pain. When Eames handed him the note from the grieving widow, he understood what had happened. The scene supported the murder-suicide scenario. But it hadn't relieved any of his pain. Handing back the note, he struggled for all he was worth to keep the rage under control. He'd apologized to the innocent man for somehow failing him…for not seeing this coming. The fact that there was no way he could have didn't even register, given the emotional state he was in. He'd looked at her. He knew from the look in her eyes and the pain on her face that she could read his struggle. It never even occurred to him that she had misinterpreted his pain.

He'd left the rectory, and the fury inside him grew. By the time he got to the car, it was barely controllable. He surprised himself with the force behind his rage when he'd shattered the window. He couldn't be around anyone and he knew it. So he drove. When he'd started getting reckless behind the wheel, he'd parked. As he got out of the car, the phone rang and he'd angrily thrown it against the floorboards and slammed the door. He didn't even remember where he'd parked it, or how he'd ended up walking the harbor path in Battery Park. But he kept walking. Trying not to think or feel, he had walked, and before he even realized it, it was dark.

He found a bar somewhere along the way. He wouldn't be able to find it again if he tried; he had no clue where it was. And he'd started drinking, hoping the alcohol would quench the pain and stifle the rage. The longer they remained, the more he drank. When the bar closed, he'd pulled out his wallet to pay. The bartender had taken the wallet, gotten his address from his driver's license, and called a cab to take him home.

Finding his apartment shouldn't have been as hard as it was, but he'd found it. And when he'd stumbled into a clean apartment, and his partner sitting there, eyes red and filled with pain…that was it. He didn't want to talk about it. But damn she was stubborn! All he really remembered was shouting at her…then she'd gotten right in his face and shouted back. No fear, that one. God, he loved her. He did remember kissing her. He also remembered the fear and the fury that had driven him to do it…and he remembered telling her to leave. And that was it. He didn't remember anything else.

Right now, he felt exhausted, hungover and sick to his stomach. He didn't want to move…he knew what came with that. Most of the pain he felt right now was physical. He wondered what he'd done to his ribs, and reaching up to feel the wound on his head, he was surprised to find it was sticky with blood. He was even more surprised to look at his hand and find it caked with dried blood. No doubt he was a mess.

The rage that had driven him yesterday was gone. The pain was not. He was still angry at Deakins for putting Eames in a situation she never should have been in. His initial feelings of anger and betrayal were long gone…he knew she had done what Deakins had told her to do…and he knew she would never have done anything to hurt him. Not her. And all his attempts to take the blame for Father Sean's death had crumbled. As badly as he felt, this was one crime he could not "own," as Eames had put it. So all that was left to him now was grief for the good father and regret for any pain he'd caused his partner…and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn't go away until he made things right with her, until he knew that everything was ok between them…that their partnership, and their love, was intact.


	23. Resolution

Eames had slept for a little while on the couch, but it wasn't easy. She was still upset. He was safe, and he was sleeping. He'd have a hell of a hangover when he woke up. Most of her felt bad for him, but a small part of her couldn't help but feel he deserved it after putting her through what he did. Then she remembered that the pain that had fueled his rage was her fault.

It was pointless to try and sleep anymore, so she went for a walk. She liked this neighborhood, and walking in the pre-dawn morning helped her to feel better. Part of her partner's problem was his loneliness. Every date she had ever known him to go on had not panned out into more. Every girlfriend she knew about had not stayed around for long. Bobby was sweet and charming, but he walked along a path few could follow, listening to the beat of a very different drummer. That made him intense and, in the eyes of some, weird. But she understood her eccentric partner. She could hear the beat of his drummer. And in spite of everything, or maybe even because of some of it, she loved him. She could take anything he dished out. And when he was an ass, she knew exactly how to put him in his place. The only fear she felt about him was her fear of his worst enemy…himself. And she felt that she had the ability to be the buffer he needed in that war with himself. She had no intention of letting him down.

When she got back to the apartment building, she decided to take a quick trip home, to shower and change. She took her time, letting herself think long and hard about her partner and the demons that haunted him. Mostly she worried about how he was going to handle Father Sean's death once he was sober. She knew he had become very fond of the priest, and so had she. He had been a kind and gentle man who had not deserved his fate. She also worried, very much, that he would try to bear the weight of Father Sean's murder. She knew he was still struggling over Rodney's death. The only thing she regretted about that was that it had been his bullet that had killed that monster. But Bobby had a sensitive soul that bore his burdens heavily. The rationalization 'He deserved it' could find no place with him. She knew; she'd tried that reasoning with him.

It was lunchtime when she left her apartment, so she stopped for a bite to eat. She didn't expect him to be getting up any time soon. With all that had happened yesterday, she'd nearly forgotten about his injuries from the courtyard. He was putting a lot on an injured body.

She got back to the apartment during the early afternoon. She let herself in quietly and went down the hall to check on him. He was still sleeping heavily. She smiled. He needed that sleep. So she returned to the living room and looked through the books she had replaced on their shelves yesterday. Science, psychology, history…God bless him. She turned the TV on and looked for a movie.

She was in the kitchen preparing dinner when she heard the bedroom door open. She walked to stand by the table as he came into the living room. He stopped, surprised, and looked at her. "You're still here?"

"Of course I am. Where did you think I'd be?"

"Not here."

"How do you feel?"

"Don't ask."

She walked over to him and gently touched his chin to turn his face. She looked at the wound on the side of his head. It looked red and inflamed. Dried blood matted his hair and the side of his head by his ear. "That doesn't look good. Let me see your hand."

She examined it carefully. It was bruised, swollen and bloody. "Make a fist."

He did, but couldn't close it completely. She couldn't feel any odd deformities. There were several lacerations, probably from the mirror he'd shattered, but they had stopped bleeding long ago. She looked at his face. "How's your chest?"

He just shook his head. "Let's take a look," she said, reaching out and gently unbuttoned his shirt. She was still surprised by the extensive bruising, but she knew that happened when bullets hit those vests. They were life-saving but not injury-preventing. She ran her hands over his chest, but felt no indication he'd displaced his rib fractures. "Sit down, Bobby. I'll get you something to drink and some medicine, and then I'll feed you."

She started to turn away, but he grabbed her wrist. She looked at him. Quietly he said, "Don't try to pretend nothing happened."

"I'm not. We'll get to that. Now go sit down."

He studied her face for a moment before releasing her and doing as she asked, sitting on the couch. She went into the bedroom to recover the medicine bottle that had been knocked under the bed. She couldn't miss the hole in the wall by the bed, and the blood that colored its edges. The same for the one in the hallway. Well, those could be patched. Her brother had a lot of experience patching holes like that.

He was quietly watching her, and she wasn't surprised he was so subdued. He probably felt like crap and he was very uncertain about where he stood with her. But that was okay…let him worry for a little while. It was nothing compared to how she'd felt yesterday. She handed him a glass of water and two pills, then went back to the kitchen. She finished dinner…cubed chicken in gravy served over rice with some broccoli. She set the two plates on the table. "Come over here and eat," she said softly.

He didn't argue. He'd had enough of that. With some effort he got up from the couch and walked to the table. He had no idea what to think about her. She didn't seem mad at all, and she was still here, which had surprised the hell out of him. He had not expected to see her…possibly until he returned to the squad room. He'd hoped she would talk to him, let him apologize, but he was still shocked to see her here. Now she was…taking care of him. Well, at least she still liked him. He pushed his food around with his fork, still feeling nauseous. "Eat, Bobby. You'll feel better."

It wasn't food that was going to make him feel better, but he took a few bites. As his stomach settled, he took a few more. The medicine was beginning to work and his pain was fading a bit. It didn't hurt so much to breathe and his head was merely throbbing now. He was using his right hand to eat; it hurt to hold the fork in his left.

Quietly, she watched him. She was used to him being quiet, but not quite this quiet. He had perked up a little; some color had returned to his face and he didn't look quite so miserable. So she decided to start the conversation she knew they needed to have. "Bobby, I…I am so sorry about yesterday."

He frowned, fork in midair. "You? You are sorry? Did I miss something?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the murder, that I just left and said nothing."

"Like Deakins told you to."

"He regrets it, too."

"Good. He should. But not you."

"I should have told you."

He shrugged, wincing at the pain that flared in both his head and his chest. "Forget about it, Alex."

"I can't forget it. I feel like I betrayed you, let you down."

"I felt like that…but not for long. I knew there had to be a reason you didn't tell me, and there was. I'm fine with that."

She studied him for a long moment. "So where did that anger come from?"

He put his fork down, resting his head on his hand and rubbing his forehead, eyes closed. Finally he looked at her. "From pain, mostly. There was some anger. I was angry that Deakins put you in a situation like that with me. He should have trusted you to know whether or not to tell me. He should have left that up to you. But I…had a hard time…seeing Father Sean like that. I had to…blame myself for it, for a while. I hate feeling like…things are out of control. And that is exactly how I felt."

"I could see that."

"I…took it out on you. I'm sorry."

"You took it out more on yourself."

"Yeah, well…now I have to wander around the city looking for my car."

She laughed softly. "Do you have any idea where you left it?"

"Not a clue."

"You left it in Battery Park."

"Oh."

"Do you remember being there?"

He nodded. "I was walking there, by the harbor, until dark."

"Where'd you go after that?"

"I don't know. I just walked. Then I found a bar and spent the rest of the night there."

"How'd you get home?"

He shrugged. "Cab. I don't remember a lot. But I do remember yelling at you, and that you were crying. I am so sorry for that. I…never meant to hurt you."

"I know that, Bobby."

"Uh…how did you know where my car is?"

"It was called in and they called Deakins when they found out it was yours. He had them tow it to his house, so it's safe."

"Oh." He nodded. Deakins did take care of his people. "I guess I should call him."

"He'd probably appreciate that. He was pretty worried about you. I guess you'll hear all about it."

"Probably. I expected to hear it from you."

"And I was going to give it to you," she answered with a smile. "But…I think you've been punished enough."

He raised his eyebrows, sending more pain through his head. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath…wrong thing to do. He sat there, eyes closed, waiting for the pain to recede before looking at her again. "Thanks...for not leaving."

She gave him a reassuring smile. "This wasn't about being mad at Deakins, or even about me, though. Was it?"

"Not entirely."

"Then what else was there?"

"Hearing Father Sean had been murdered, and seeing him there…I lost it, Eames. I lost control of the anger and the pain and let the rage take over."

"You had nothing to do with what happened to him."

"I know that. Believe me, I tried to take the blame. I do realize it's not mine. But that doesn't stop the grief."

"I know. I liked him, too."

"I don't like it when things start to spin out of control. I…I just snapped. I…scared myself."

"You scared me, too. How do you feel today?"

"Back to normal, mostly…other than feeling like I've been hit by a bus. And I am sorry that I caused you any grief."

"Just don't let it happen again, Goren."

He smiled. "I'll do my best."

She cleared away the dishes and asked, "Why were you surprised to find me still here?"

"I wasn't exactly nice to you last night. I do remember telling you to leave."

"And I do everything you tell me to, right?"

He smiled, slowly getting up and walking over to the couch. The pain was manageable, but he was feeling groggy. She sat beside him, gently smoothing his hair. "You need a shower. You've got blood everywhere."

He nodded, looking at her through half-closed eyes. He reached up and stroked her cheek. "Forgive me?"

She slid into his arms. "Of course I do. You aren't going to scare me off, Goren. I know you too well, and I understand you. Most of all, I love you. But I swear if you ever scare me like you did yesterday, I'll kill you."

He nodded. "And I'll let you. It's got to be better than feeling like this."

She laughed softly. "I think you're getting off lightly."

He placed his finger under her chin and tipped her face up toward his. Gently he kissed her, and she held him in her arms as he went back to sleep.


	24. Closure

**A/N: Thank you for all your well-wishing regarding our move. I hate moving! We are currently in search of housing, but since I have access to the Internet here, I decided y'all have waited long enough for this last chapter. Thank you for the feedback, and I am very pleased that you have enjoyed it**

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She rolled over in the bed, but instead of rolling into a warm body, she simply rolled into an empty space. He wasn't there. She got up and pulled on her robe, walking from the bedroom down the hall to the living room and into the kitchen. He wasn't in the apartment. She found a note on the table. _Had a funeral to go to. Be home later._ He'd signed it with a simple 'x,' the symbol for a kiss. She smiled. A funeral? Oh, man…It was Saturday. Father Sean was being buried today. She hurried back to the bedroom and got dressed, grabbed her keys and rushed out the door.

He was sitting in the back pew at St. Cecelia's. The church was crowded and he didn't particularly want to be noticed. She slid into the pew beside him. He smiled at her and she slid her hand into his. She leaned toward him and whispered, "You should have woken me."

"Sorry. I didn't want to bother you."

"This is not a bother, Bobby. Were you afraid I'd talk you out of coming?"

"A little."

She smiled. "I wouldn't do that. You need this closure. How'd you get here?"

"Cab."

"Idiot," she scolded.

He just smiled and turned his attention back to the funeral Mass. He was still deeply fatigued and had spent a good deal of the last two days sleeping, resting his overworked and abused body while she was at work. He appreciated his partner's presence and, although he verbally objected to her doting care, he was glad she was there to offer it.

When the Mass was over, he remained seated, debating whether or not to go to the cemetery. Eames made the decision for him. "It's cold and raining," she said softly. "You don't need to be standing around in the weather. We'll go to visit his grave later."

When he still hesitated, she said, "Come on, Bobby. We'll get lunch and maybe play some Scrabble, ok?"

He finally nodded. She was right. Pneumonia would certainly delay his recovery, and his weakened condition made him susceptible right now. They grabbed a bite to eat and went home.

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Sitting across from him, Eames studied the Scrabble board. "You didn't leave me much here, Goren."

He smiled. So far she had never been able to beat him at Scrabble, but she wasn't surprised by that. When his phone rang, he got up and grabbed it from the counter. "Goren."

"How are you feeling?" Deakins asked.

"I'm all right."

"I decided not to wait any longer for you to call."

"Sorry. I haven't felt up to it."

"Is it all right if I stop by in about an hour? I want to talk to you."

"That's fine."

"Is your partner there?"

"Yes."

"Tell her not to go anywhere. I want to talk to both of you."

"I'll tell her." He snapped the phone closed. "Don't leave. Deakins is on his way over to talk to us."

She smiled at him as he sat back down at the table. "Were you expecting me to leave?"

"No. Just delivering a message."

She laughed softly, adding four tiles to the board to spell out 'bronco.'

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She answered the door when the bell rang. Deakins came in, dressed casually. Goren got up from the table and came into the living room. Deakins studied him. "You look better."

He just nodded and sat on the couch. Eames sat beside him and Deakins sat in the easy chair. He looked at his two favorite detectives and smiled. What a team they were. Addressing Goren, he said, "First, I told Alex the other day that Internal Affairs cleared you in the shooting. All you have to do is clear psych and you can have your gun back." Goren nodded. "Second, your car is at my place. I had them come out and repair that rear window before the storms started. Whenever you're ready you can come and get it. Angie and the girls would be happy to see you again anyway."

Goren smiled at that. He liked Deakins' family. "What do I owe you for that?"

"Nothing. Accept it as my apology for what happened Tuesday." That was really what he had come by to discuss. He looked from one detective to the other. "I wanted to apologize to both of you for interfering in your partnership. I should have known you would know what was best, Alex, and in forbidding you to deal with it, I caused a major problem that could have been avoided."

Eames said quietly, "That was just part of it, but thank you, Captain."

Goren nodded in agreement. "Either way, it was a hard thing to deal with. But thanks."

Deakins said quietly, "Everything is ok here, then?"

His eyes rested on Goren in particular, so the big cop was the one who answered, "Yes. It wasn't ever about Eames, really. It was something inside me that…snapped. But it's been dealt with, and no one got hurt."

The captain looked at the bandage wrapped around Goren's left hand, but he didn't comment about it. "How are you feeling otherwise?"

"Still sore, and still very tired."

Eames added, "This case took a lot out of both of us."

The captain nodded. He had been watching them. He'd seen the toll it was taking on Goren, and the struggle Eames had been having trying to keep him grounded. He'd known Goren for enough years to recognize when he was turning into himself, and he had always relied on Eames to keep him from turning in too far. She knew just how to deal with her partner, and that was something Deakins counted on. He should have known better when he ordered her not to tell him about the priest's murder; he should have trusted Eames. He wouldn't make that same mistake twice. He would never underestimate their connection again. "I just wanted to let you both know that I am sorry I didn't trust you enough to know you'd deal with it the right way. And I wanted to see how you were doing, Bobby."

"Thanks for coming by," Goren answered. "And thanks for taking care of my car."

"It's not a problem. I'll see you on Monday, Alex." He looked at Goren. "I want you to get an ok from the department docs before you come back on duty, just so I know you're physically ok."

Goren frowned but nodded. He knew he wasn't quite ready to go back to work yet, but as he began feeling better he'd get bored and restless. Deakins knew he'd try to come back to work too soon, whether Eames liked it or not. The captain left and Eames looked at her partner. "You up to finishing the game?"

"Sure. What do you want for dinner?"

"How does pizza sound?"

He smiled. "Whatever you want, Eames."

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Two weeks later, cleared for duty by both psych and the department docs, Goren was back at work. He and Eames had gone out to visit Father Sean's grave, so he could say his personal good-bye to the kind and gentle man. More than anything else this case had done, he regretted most the murder of the priest. He and Eames had a solid relationship, he realized, and he felt deeply sorry for any pain he caused her, but that was fixable, and this was not. There had been no way to predict or prevent what had happened and that alone had kept him from owning this crime. But it still touched his heart and caused him pain. For the first time, however, he had a remedy for most of the pain in his life. All he had to do was turn to his partner and she could make him feel better about almost anything. His most sincere hope was that he did the same for her. She, too, had her demons, he had come to understand…things that troubled her and haunted her sleep at night. When she tossed and turned, he pulled her close and held her. And she always settled into his embrace and slept quietly after that…just like he did in her arms. They needed one another more than they had ever realized, and the one good thing that had come from this case was that they had found out just how much comfort love could offer.

_Fin_.


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